


Love All Things That Grow

by knightinmourning



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, F/F, F/M, Found Family, M/M, Mortality, Other, Panic Attacks, Second Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-08-11 16:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinmourning/pseuds/knightinmourning
Summary: Aziraphale hears a knock on the door of the cottage he shares with Crowley late at night. It’s Gabriel, human and in need help. He’s fallen in love with Beelzebub, and Heaven is Not Happy. For that matter, Hell isn’t either.





	1. Part I

_I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren. _  
\- Eowyn, Lord of the Rings (J.R.R. Tolkien)

* * *

The mountains were lovely. Bright and snowcapped, they stood tall in the horizon, peaks stabbing into the sky as far as the eye could see. Though it was June, it was rather cold here, especially with a slight breeze. Around them, humans took pictures and leaned over the edge of the lookout, pointing out the animals in the valley below. Gabriel couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride in his chest as he looked out over his creation, and saw so many people, plants, and animals inhabiting and loving the space.

Mountains had been his specialty, when the world was first created. The Rockies had been a particular masterpiece, and he was glad to see they’d held up so well. Better, at least, than the Shenandoah or the Porkies, both of which had worn down to now stand at only a fraction of the height they once did. 

Gabriel didn’t know what to wear on this trip, so he stuck to his suit. He was clearly overdressed, and more than a couple of humans had given him odd looks. It didn’t matter though, because he was happy. Genuinely happy, for the first time in who knew how long. Beside him, Beelzebub looked… well, not _ un _happy, but there wasn’t a smile on their face. They were standing beside him, so much smaller than him but just as powerful and dangerous, glaring out over the peaks as if they owned them.

For all he knew, maybe they did.

Their hand came up to grip his, and around him flies began to buzz around his head. It had started a few months after the apocalypse. The two of them started meeting, once in a while, on Earth. For social reasons.

He was still hoping he could pass it off as work meetings to Heaven, but he had his doubts.

Anyway, the flies started around the third date. Beelzebub hadn’t explained it to him, but they just started gradually landing him on him, swarming around his head at times in a mass, as if to enshroud and protect him. Gabriel had always thought they’d be unpleasant or annoying, but now that he’d been around them a few months, they just seemed to disappear into the background of his world.

They were spending this week in the Rockies, away from the cities preferred by most angels and demons when they came to Earth. Off the grid for a bit, Gabriel was hoping to have some solitary time with the Prince of Hell. A few miracles got them a campsite off the beaten path, and they could sleep under the stars in the woods and enjoy life outside of the office building of Heaven and Hell.

“So much life here,” Beelzebub muttered from their position beside him.

“Isn’t there? I can get rid of them, if you’d like. Just a minor miracle.”

Beelzebub turned and regarded him. After both of them had spent so much time dealing with the fallout from Aziraphale and Crowley, they were keenly aware that they had to be careful about their relationship.

Michael and Hastur might not mind, if only due to mutually assured destruction, but there were still millions of angels and demons who weren’t so understanding about their leaders _ dating _.

And on Earth, at that.

“Let’s get out of here.” Beelzebub was already pulling Gabriel along, back to their car. Gabriel didn’t drive, didn’t see the point, but Beelzebub had found themself a flashy, modern car that they kept on Earth. It was black and red and sat low to the ground. Cramped in the passenger seat, Gabriel held on as they continued past the next few lookouts and to the trailhead for the hike to their campsite.

His understanding was that this campsite was less preferred because there were bears nearby that occasionally left recent kills around the site.

Bad for humans, great for an angel and a Prince of Hell with far too many flies.

***

“I’m an angel, Beelzebub! I should have control of the weather! Change it to my will!”

“We should both be able to alter it. There’s something else going on. Something interfering.”

Their first two days together had been fantastic, enjoying each other’s company, exploring the woods, and generally not dealing with angels, demons, or humans at all. There _ was _ a bear around, and a hungry one at that, but Gabriel had no issue keeping it from discorporating either of them.

And then the rain started.

With the rain came thunder and lightning, hail, and gusts of wind that seemed to threaten to turn into tornadoes at any moment.

Miracles didn’t help, not even small ones protecting just the two of them.

So they’d made their way to a nearby cave, which they were now sharing. Just an angel, the Prince of Hell, and their new pet bear.

Beelzebub had taken to calling it Roosevelt. “He’s one of ours, you know,” they said, when he asked why. Of course he was, because _ all _of the presidents of the United States who had died thusfar, save George Washington, had gone to hell upon their deaths. And there’d been a mighty fight over America’s first president. No one had fought over Roosevelt, though. He might have done America a favor by creating national parks, but the fact was, it was far easier to get dragged into Hell than to ascend to Heaven. Most people didn’t even come close to making the cut.

Which, unfortunately for Heaven, was usually how it went with humanity. But at least they didn’t have to read the ongoing demonic writings of a long-dead Alexander Hamilton.

By day four, unable to take sitting quietly in the dark, damp, _ cold _ cave anymore, Gabriel felt a pull of a thought, that he might wander outside for a bit. Stretch his legs, if he couldn’t stretch his wings. It was a pull he couldn't resist, and it couldn’t be half as bad as the time God flooded half the planet, right?

He was wrong. He was very wrong.

When the lightning struck, he was only maybe thirty feet away from the cave. The winds were howling and the rain seemed to pick up with every step he took.

From behind him, Beelzebub shouted something that may have been “get back here, you angelic fool,” but with everything going on around him, Gabriel couldn’t make out the individual words. Groaning and creaking sounds above him made him look up, squinting into the trees.

When the branch fell, he had only a fraction of a second to step out of the way, feeling lucky he was an angel and considering that perhaps he should get back to Beelzebub and safety.

It landed with a _ thud _ beside him as he pushed down the fear that comes with nearly being squished to discorporation.

Only thirty feet to the cave. Only thirty feet to safety. Only thirty feet to his Prince of Hell, who was standing in the entrance looking furious with him. As they rightly should, he supposed. He took one step, and then another.

When it comes to jumping out of the way of dangerous objects, a branch is one thing, and a lightning strike is something totally different. Normally, Gabriel wouldn’t have to worry about the latter. Lightning doesn’t strike angels. It just doesn’t. But today, apparently, that is not the rule.

Or, at least, it wasn’t for him.

In 6000 years, Gabriel has never been discorporated. Sure, he wasn’t on Earth for most of it, and when he was on Earth, it was usually to check in on someone else. But the fact stands, he has a good track record when it comes to discorporation.

That changed in this moment, when Gabriel was enveloped in light. It didn’t hurt, not at first. Instead, he felt _ alive _ and present in his corporeal form in a way he had before.

And then the light disappeared, and the rain stopped, and he fell to the ground, which was entirely too hard for the middle of a pine forest, which should have had a soft bed of needles under him. More than that, he could _ feel _ that there are no needles under him, because so far as he could tell, he was no longer wearing clothes.

He barely managed to think, _ what the fuck? _ before the world faded to black, and for the first time in his existence, the Archangel Gabriel lost consciousness.

***

“Today marks day four of an unusually powerful storm in the Rocky Mountains. Some are calling it a testament to climate change, while others…”

Aziraphale turned off the television, grabbing a book from the coffee table in front of him and curling up on the couch to read for a bit. The news had been covering the storm since the second day. Apparently it wasn’t out-of-season so much as it was substantially longer than normal. Aziraphale thought that perhaps they should hold off with the calls of concern until it lasted forty days and nights, but he supposed in an area that normally only had afternoon thunderstorms, having one for five days straight might be a bit of a concern.

As he pondered it, he heard Crowley in the next room, yelling at the plants again. “You heard me! _ Grow! _”

He wouldn’t pretend to understand what the plants had done to face the demon’s wrath now, if they’d done anything. Crowley stalked past him with a plant in his hands. “Make sure to water it when you plant it outside, dear. They need the extra pick-me-up. I don’t know if it’s the shock from being outdoors, or the fear from your threats.”

“I’m not going to-”

“Yes you are. My garden, on the right side, near the petunias, if you will.”

“They need to be shown who’s boss.”

“Whatever you say, love. Remember to dig a deep enough hole, they don’t like when their top roots are uncovered.”

Aziraphale opened his book as Crowley slammed the door shut behind him - not out of anger, but in an attempt to spook the remaining indoor plants - and began to read. There was nothing better for a quiet evening than some Dickens and a nice mug of tea.

> _ It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness... _

When Crowley returned, empty pot in hand - “_ Remember to put it in the trash. You know I hate tripping on them in the dark _.” - he grumbled his way to the kitchen to do as Aziraphale asked and then returned to flop on the couch beside him. Dropping his head on Aziraphale’s lap, he promptly fell asleep, sunglasses and jacket still on.

Aziraphale set _ A Tale of Two Cities _ down just long enough to pluck the glasses off. He knew Crowley had an entire collection of spares, but he much preferred to keep them safe and in good condition.

Taking a sip of his tea, he returned to Dickens. 

At least, he did for a few minutes, before something changed.

He could smell it. It smelled _ good _. Light. Not like anything that existed on Earth.

“Hey, angel, do me a favor and turn down the pheromones, alright? I’m trying to sleep here.”

“That’s not me, Crowley.”

_ Shit _.

Crowley was sitting up and the two of them were staring at each other at the realization of what they were smelling.

“D’you think?” Crowley asked.

“I don’t _ not _ think.”

“We should go check it out.”

“Or we could barricade ourselves in here, and hope for the best.”

“If it’s the Archangels, they can get through a barricade without any problem, Crowley. Should we run?”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know! You always seem to have a list of places you want to visit, why don’t you-”

A knock sounded at the back door. And then another. Crowley’s eyes were wide and bright. “Do angels usually knock?”

“Nope.”

“But that ssssmell, it’s definitely…” Crowley trailed off.

“You hide, I’ll see what they want.” Aziraphale said, swallowing his fear. They’d been left alone the past few months. Settling in their own space, growing their own gardens, and being _ together _, for real, for the first time, had been a dream come true.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe they just wanted him to do a little miracle. He could pop out for a job, be back by breakfast tomorrow. That wouldn’t be so bad.

Crowley had listened to him without fighting for once, as the knocking increased, and was now in his plant room with the door closed. Aziraphale glanced at the door again.

The knocking had stopped, but the scent remained.

***

When Gabriel woke up, the first thing he noticed was the soft grass of a well-groomed lawn under him.

The second thing he noticed was that the rain had finally stopped. 

The third thing he noticed was that Beelzebub wasn’t with him.

The fourth thing he noticed was that he was _ still _ naked.

Well, that was an easy fix. He didn’t even bother sitting up as he snapped to miracle himself some clothes.

Except they didn’t appear.

Another snap, and another. Wishing, hoping, praying for clothes with the fourth snap, but still nothing.

Gabriel pushed himself up from the ground enough to get a look around, and realized he was likely in someone’s back garden. The house, a comfortable brick cottage, stood to his left, and an open space with a football and a pair of goals laid to his right. He sat up fully, and was surprised to feel something bump against his thigh.

_ That is a penis _.

He’d never had genitalia before. Had never needed it, had never considered it, had never wanted it.

But he had one now.

It was something he’d have to consider further at a later time, though, because there was a sound like a door opening coming from the cottage. Gabriel threw himself into a crevice beside a pair of bushes. Thorns sliced into his bare skin, and he held back a yelp as the cuts began to sting and bleed.

He watched through the branches of the bush as a lanky red-haired man in black clothes sauntered outside with a pot and a nearly-perfectly healthy plant, grumbling as he walked about how it would be more effective to incinerate it than to replant it somewhere else. The man wore sunglasses with red lenses, and had a snake tattoo.

He had a snake tattoo.

_ Goddamn snake _.

Gabriel hadn’t spent much time around Crowley, at least since he’d fallen all those millennia ago, but if Crowley was here, that had to mean Aziraphale was nearby. The two of them had gone off together after the two failed trials, after all. Surely this large, beautiful garden was Aziraphale’s doing?

But it was Crowley who was currently bent over the ground, delicately patting mounded soil onto the plant to anchor it in place.

Gabriel stayed hidden, hoping that his smell, pungent even to his nose, was masked by the overwhelming floral scents of the garden. In general, it was nearly impossible to differentiate between angels or demons or humans, but he remembered at least one occasion in Aziraphale’s bookshop where he smelled evil, and only later found out that it was the snake’s scent reeking throughout the place. He was sure Crowley already knew this, given his close relationship with Aziraphale, and he wasn’t particularly interested in finding out what a demon might do to a lost, depowered angel, given the chance.

Crowley finished planting the small fern and Gabriel could just barely hear him mumble, “Grow well for him. He means well, and he loves you, even if he forgets to water you,” before he headed back inside.

Taking a few long, measured breaths, Gabriel waited until Crowley had, hopefully, moved away from the door before he rose from his hiding spot. Aziraphale likely didn’t want anything more to do with him than Crowley did, but at least he felt safe in assuming the angel wouldn’t smite him where he stood. They had been friends, once, and Gabriel liked to think that maybe they could be again, one day.

He stepped away from the bushes, past curtained windows, and walked up to the back door of the cottage. Taking one more breath, he knocked.

And again.

And then again.

Maybe they were busy?

Maybe Crowley was home alone and didn’t answer the door for strange naked angels?

Maybe they were just ignoring him, because he’d tried to murder Aziraphale and destroy the planet and honestly hadn’t felt _ that _ bad about it.

So he gave up, taking the steps back down into the yard two at a time before realizing a major problem with his current situation. His powers weren’t working, he didn’t have clothes, and this quiet little community probably had some pretty stringent rules about walking naked through the streets. Letting his shoulders sag at the realization, Gabriel returned to the door and knocked again.

But it was no use. He could hear some voices inside, too soft to understand what they were saying, but if they weren’t going to come to the door - which, he noted, was locked - he’d have to find another route.

There was a shed in the yard, the door open a crack and a shovel sitting just outside. Surely they had some sort of garments there which he could borrow to cover himself?

Before he’d made it more than a couple of steps, however, the back door opened and Gabriel turned around.

_ Took him long enough _.

Aziraphale was standing on the other side of the screen, the hard, serious look on his face fading to one of surprise as he took in Gabriel’s lack of dress.

“Gabriel?” He asked, his voice tight. Gabriel didn’t know if it was from anger, fear, surprise, or just the raw awkwardness of the situation.

It wasn’t every day your boss shows up at your door in the nude.

“Uh, hi, Aziraphale. It’s good to see you. Um, could I maybe come in?”

The hard look returned. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s a great question. If I could answer it, I would. I’m not here on Heaven’s orders, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

With a sigh that sounded like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, Aziraphale nodded. “Alright. But you stay where I tell you to. No wandering.”

“Of course. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

_ Better ingratiate myself now, because I’m betting I’ll have to rely on their kindness for the near future, until I can get this figured out _.

***

Crowley was thinner than him, and Aziraphale shorter, and neither of them, stuck in their ways as they were, were willing to miracle him up some clothes.

As a result, Gabriel was currently sitting on their sofa wearing some old, stretched pyjama pants Crowley had dug out of the bottom of his wardrobe, and a too-big t-shirt Aziraphale liked to sleep in sometimes. It wasn’t what he’d consider the height of style or comfort, but Gabriel was so glad to not have to look at that _ thing _ dangling between his legs anymore, that he found he didn’t particularly care.

Aziraphale was sitting across from him, Crowley nowhere to be seen, though Aziraphale had gone and spoken to him earlier, their hushed tones far to quiet for Gabriel to hear in this body.

Speaking of the body, Aziraphale wasn’t beyond doing a little miracle to fix up his cuts and to clean the dirt off him, the feeling of clean, smooth skin far preferable to the incessant stinging that had covered his back and arms out in the garden. It felt too small on him, now that he had clothes on it and had a moment to sit and think. Reflexively, Gabriel tried to bring out his wings, to stretch and feel the full power of his being, but there was nothing but the cramped, somewhat claustrophobic feeling of being in a vessel that wasn’t quite right.

Except it wasn’t a vessel, was it? _ Vessel _ implied that there was something more than human in this meatsack, and Gabriel wasn’t sure there was, at the moment.

“Your sure you can’t do a single miracle, then? No powers? No wings?”

“Definitely not. I’ve been trying, but I always get a big hunk of nothing.”

“Hmmm,” Aziraphale hummed and narrowed his eyes, regarding Gabriel as if he was a particularly interesting insect.

“I, um, think you should know that punishment from Above wouldn’t be entirely unexpected for me.”

“Oh?”

That took Gabriel off guard. After everything that had happened, Aziraphale breaking away from the Host and going off with a demon, he expected that admitting to being less than perfect himself would be met with some amount of gloating. After all, surely Crowley’s mischief had rubbed off on him to some extent.

“I’ve been… seeing someone.”

“Personal relationships are frowned upon by Upstairs. Usually you, actually.”

“Yeah, well, I made an exception for myself.”

“Who are they, Gabriel? Another angel?”

“Nope. That would, uh, that would be too easy.”

“Gabriel….” Aziraphale’s tone wasn’t quite scolding, but was leaning just enough towards it that Gabriel knew he’d have to respond.

“Beelzebub, Zira. I’ve been seeing Beelzebub.”

“The Prince of Hell? You’ve been dating the Prince of Hell? You tried to kill me for being _ friends _ with Crowley, and you’re dating _ the Prince of Hell _? Crowley, get out here, you’re definitely needed for this!”

Gabriel sank back into the couch and ran a hand down his face. “Look, can you just… not make a big deal out of this? I don’t even know where they are. We were together, and now I’m here and they’re not. I don’t know what happened.”

Aziraphale’s expression softened at that, as if he knew exactly what Gabriel was going through. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to find out, then.”

Crowley _ crept _ into the room - _ can’t he just move normally for once? Beelzebub always walks normally, so it’s not like it’s a _ demon _ thing _ \- and perched on the arm of the chair Aziraphale was sitting in. Even with the sunglasses, Gabriel could feel the demon’s gaze on him, and after once again attempting to use his power to make himself appear bigger, stronger, _ mightier _, he instinctively shrunk back a little.

“So, Aziraphale, what fine occasion brought Gabe to us today?” He asks with the beginning of a smirk on his face. His lips curled and Gabriel felt not unlike prey in the last moment before a predator pounces.

“It seems he’s fallen in with a demon, dear, and it may well be that Heaven decided to take vengeance.”

“A demon? Which one? Someone I know?”

“Gabriel, care to share?”

Suddenly feeling very much like a child being forced to admit he broke a vase, Gabriel muttered, “Beelzebub.”

“Sorry, can you repeat that? Couldn’t hear you, old ears and all that?” The growing smirk on his face told Gabriel that this was just for Crowley’s amusement, but he obliged, repeating the name just a little louder.

Crowley opened his mouth again, but Aziraphale cut him off before he could get a sound out. “No need to torture the poor man. He’s had quite a rough day as is, from my understanding. But, it seems, we have two jobs.”

“_ We _ have two jobs? _ We _don’t have anything, Angel. That’s not how it goes anymore.”

“He has no powers, Crowley. He’s human now. We can’t abandon him. He doesn’t know anything about Earth.”

Gabriel bristled at that. “Hey! I know things about Earth. It’s not like I’ve never been here before.”

“Do you know how currency works? How to procure or make food for yourself? Have you ever shaved your beard by hand?”

“No, but-”

Aziraphale ignored his protest. “See, dear. He needs help, and we’re in a unique position to provide him that help. You believe in free will, don’t you also believe people can change?”

“People can change, sure. Angels? Not so much.”

“Well, he’s human, for now, so I guess you’ll just have to figure that one out. Anyway, we need to help him get his powers back, and help him find Beelzebub, since it sounds like they might be missing as well.”

“Could you not talk about me like I’m not here?” Gabriel cut in, finding his voice again. “I might be human, but I can still help. I’m not a damsel in distress.”

The look Crowley gave him suggested he was just that, but Aziraphale glanced over at him and nodded. “Of course. My apologies. It’s getting on evening, are you feeling hungry? We could go grab a bite.”

Gabriel considered the question. He’d never been _ hungry _ before. How did humans feel hunger? Their stomachs were in their torsos. Was it a feeling in the stomach? After a moment of introspection in which he didn’t quite figure out whether he was hungry or not, he nodded. “Sure, I could eat, I suppose.”

The diner was small and cramped and had too many smells, which were too sweet and too salty and too earthy and too-

Just too much.

Gabriel was certain he was going to be ill, and Aziraphale took one look at him and muttered, “It’s alright, I’ll order for you. Something bland, I think,” and then turned to the waitress and ordered Gabriel white toast and water, and himself fish and chips. Crowley ordered a coffee, which he sipped only very rarely throughout their conversation and meal.

Aziraphale was clearly the one taking the lead on the make-sure-Gabriel-is-comfortable part of their self-declared mission, and he took advantage of the wait before their food came to ask Gabriel about how he was doing.

“I’m fine, Zira. I promise.” Crowley looked up at him at the nickname, but Aziraphale patted his hand and he went back to pointedly _ not _ looking at Gabriel.

“It’s a lot of change. The new body and all. I know there are… _ parts _ that you’re not used to.”

They both knew exactly what he was talking about, and with the hushed tone he was using, Gabriel wondered if perhaps this wasn’t a conversation for a diner.

He wasn’t, however, great at modulating his human voice yet, and said, perhaps a bit too loudly, “You mean the penis? Yeah, I’m a little uncomfortable about that.”

Crowley’s head hit the table with a _ thump _ and Aziraphale looked absolutely scandalized, staring at him before glancing around the mostly-empty establishment. “Voice down, Gabriel. Humans don’t like discussing their bodies in public places.” 

“Oh, sorry.” He tried to lower his voice a bit, and thought he’d succeeded, but he wasn’t anywhere near the soft tones of Aziraphale or the quiet hissing of Crowley.

Their food appeared, the waitress looking a little less happy with them now, but still with a smile on her face. Gabriel looked down at the toast for a moment, and then turned instead to the water he’d been ignoring and took a sip, much like Crowley had. It coated his tongue and soothed his throat in a he hadn’t known he needed, and he drank the rest without thinking about it.

The waitress returned and refilled his drink, and while Aziraphale savored his fish and chips with a look of absolute contentment, Gabriel picked up his first piece of toast with a slight feeling of repulsion.

“Go on, just bite off a bit, chew it, and choke it down. Doesn’t matter what it tastes like, you need the sustenance now.” Crowley was the one who spoke to him, for once, one eyebrow raised as he watched Gabriel watching the toast. He did as he was told, pulling off a small piece with his teeth and letting it settle on his tongue before moving it around in his mouth and chewing.

He didn’t like it. Not the taste, not the texture, not the mushy mass that it turned into after he’d chewed it a bit. But he swallowed the bite without regurgitating it, which seemed like it was a good thing.

In the end, Gabriel managed to choke down three of his four slices of toast and a glass and a half of water. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale looked particularly happy about that, but they didn’t force him to ingest any more. Instead, Crowley paid for their meals and Aziraphale shepherded him out the door. They drove home in the Bentley, with Gabriel in the backseat.

When they got home, Gabriel was starting to look a little green. He struggled out of the backseat, one hand clasped on his stomach, as he felt pain and pressure in his torso, and Aziraphale put a hand on his back, pushing him into the cottage. Depositing him in the bathroom attached to the living room, he softly said, “There you go, dear. Call for help if you need it,” and closed the door on his way out.

***

The rain stopped.

Gabriel was gone. Beelzebub had watched from the mouth of the cave, trying to do anything to help him as lightning that wasn’t lightning came down and claimed him. They were certain it was Heaven’s work, which meant it was just a matter of getting on the phone with the right people to get him back.

Of course, Beelzebub didn’t _ really _ have that kind of pull with Heaven unless Gabriel was there. But Hastur did. He and Michael had some kind of a relationship, a phone line and the occasional Earth-bound date. Less than what they had with Gabriel. He wouldn’t dare deny them, if he could help them.

They left the cave, stomping through the mud on a mission. Willing the ground to open up and claim them, they stood still in the middle of the clearing that had once been their camping spot. Flies buzzed around them. The ground didn’t move.

Undeterred, Beelzebub released their wings, modeled after their flies and letting off a buzzing sound of its own. It didn’t occur to Beelzebub that humans might notice their buzzing, and so humans never did.

Which was good, because they were now flying over the United States, low enough that they might potentially be seen and certainly could have been heard, if not for their purposeful ignorance. They had to get to Hell, or at least to somewhere they could reasonably speak to one of their underlings, and get a message to Hastur. He would understand, if he knew what was good for him.

Flying was always comfortable for Beelzebub. All demons had wings, but so many had beast forms that didn’t, things like fish or reptiles. Most preferred to feel the ground under their feet, if they traveled overground at all. Dagon, the fish, preferred water.

Crowley had been the only demon Beelzebub knew of who regularly both slithered on the ground and used his wings, but they suspected that had more to do with The Angel than anything.

Beelzebub, however, came to it naturally. They were inextricably tied to flies, and flies took to the air, so Beelzebub did as well. 

Soaring down from the mountains, Beelzebub encountered another storm on the plains.

This one had stronger winds, even a tornado in the distance, and if they weren’t pressed for time, they might stop and muck things up for people in the aftermath. Better to leave that to the subordinates, though, who would influence looters and other minor criminals in the days to come. Taking a sharp turn north around the storm, they continued on.

Once they made it around the storm and back to civilization - _ Chicago? Maybe Chicago _ \- they took to the ground again.

There were portals to Heaven and Hell all over the world for easy access, and Beelzebub, being the Prince of Hell, knew where each and every one was. They’d missed the one in Denver because of the storm, and had pointedly skipped the one in Des Moines, because it’s Des Moines and they have _ standards _, but Chicago is nice enough, so they stopped.

The lobby to Hell in Chicago was understated, full of browns and blacks and a couple little couches in the corner.

Beelzebub bypassed them, even if the fire was warm and inviting after days in the cold rain, and went straight for the elevator. They considered, for just a moment, storming Heaven themself, but that would just be a death sentence even without prior warning. Instead, they hit the button for the basement, and descended into Hell.

Hastur was at his desk when the doors opened, setting down his phone with an angry look on his face, and Beelzebub walked in with an air of command.

“Hastur, with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

He lumbered behind them, flanking them as he respectfully should. When they reached their office, they forced the door open with their powers. Once they were both inside, Hastur closed the door behind him. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“You have an unregulated phone line to Heaven.” Beelzebub kept their tone measured. After they discovered that Crowley had lied to them for millennia about his association with Aziraphale, they’d made an effort to create a more _ open _ atmosphere with their coworkers.

Without, of course, mentioning their rendezvous with Gabriel.

“I do.” He said it simply, without emotion. Of course he did. He was the one who called Michael to get the holy water for Crowley’s botched execution.

“I need to contact Heaven.”

“Sir?”

“Missing angel. Heaven might have recalled him. Michael should be able to tell me. If not, we have a problem.”

Hastur nodded. He’d been different, since Ligur’s death. Quieter than before, but more distant. He’d refused to return to Earth for any reason. Beelzebub almost felt bad for him, but that was how things went when you were a demon.

There was already a phone on Beelzebub’s desk, and Hastur reached over now and dialled Michael’s personal number. She picked up after two rings.

“Hastur, what do you need? Jerahmiel isn’t with me at the moment. Sandalphon took him to Earth for a few miracles.”

_ Jerahmiel? He’s consorting with other angels? _ Beelzebub wondered if they had misunderstood Hastur’s relationship with Michael, but right now the only thing that mattered was getting to Gabriel.

“I’m not looking for Jerahmiel. Boss wants to talk to Gabriel.”

“I can’t do that. He’s been MIA for nearly a week. We thought your lot was responsible. I take it that’s not the case?”

Beelzebub shook their head.

“Boss says no.”

“Alright. If you hear anything, keep me informed. We want him back, _ unarmed _, if possible.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

Hastur hung up and then looked up at Beelzebub. “Orders, My Prince?”

“Hastur, who is _ Jerahmiel _?”

He hesitated, his jaw working and his hand coming up to rub at the frog on his head. After a long moment, he spoke. “You… you remember Ligur?”

“I do.”

“Well, when Crowley killed him, I thought that was the end. Holy water and all that.” Beelzebub nodded when he paused, and then he continued. “But it wasn’t. After the apocalypse, well, didn’t happen, Michael contacted me and said he was there. Something went wrong, and he’s an angel now. They don’t quite understand it, themselves, but she says he’s doing well and has earned their trust. Michael says sometime soon, we might be able to meet.”

“You and Ligur were…”

“Me and Ligur. That’s all we ever were. The two of us, together.”

Which was, Beelzebub knew, the closest any demon who wasn’t Crowley came to saying “I love you,” and actually meaning it.

***

Crowley entered the living room to the sounds of retching coming through the bathroom door.

“Called Hell. Talked to Hastur. He told me to fuck off before I could get a word out, so I guess we’re on our own for this one.”

“Lovely.” Aziraphale responded, looking up from his book with a neutral expression on his face, as if someone wasn’t violently puking just feet away from him.

“Is he okay?” Crowley jerks his head toward the bathroom door.

“I don’t think so, but at this point, I think it’s mostly a matter of just letting it run its course. I guess solid food is out of the question for a bit, until he gets used to it.”

When Aziraphale had picked up a taste for food, all those centuries ago, he’d never experienced anything like what Gabriel was going through now. He loved the sensation of taste, the feeling of fullness, even the gentle tug of peckishness, as long as it wasn’t too strong. The idea of feeling sick at eating even fairly bland food was nonsensical to him.

But of course, humans don’t often make sense, even - especially - humans that were angels not a day ago.

The retching stopped after far too long, and then a few other sounds came from the bathroom that were much less concerning before Gabriel finally opened the door and stepped out. He collapsed on the couch, curling in on himself. “I hate this body.”

He wasn’t sure what exactly he meant, whether it was the regurgitating or the urinating or the eating and drinking or the intense fatigue he was currently feeling, that was dragging his eyelids down and making him droop in the shoulders and list to one side as if his muscles no longer worked. For that matter, the fact that his muscles ached was also something he hated. He used to run hundreds of miles at a time and never felt a thing, but in the few hours and little bit of movement he’d done as a human, his body responded with exhaustion and pain.

Crowley tutted and sighed, striding over to him and holding a cool hand to his forehead. Gabriel didn’t recoil at the touch, though a part of him wanted to, thinking how wrong it was for him to come in contact with a demon. Or, well, a demon that wasn’t Beelzebub. But after years of nannying Warlock, Crowley had learned a thing or two about sick humans and kept his touch gentle. “You’re feverish. Might just be from dinner, but you should get some rest, just in case. Come on, guest room’s this way.”

Gabriel followed, feeling dizzy and achy as he padded behind Crowley. The guest room was tinted orange in the evening sun, accentuating the reds of the wood furniture and the tartan bedspread. Crowley apologized for the pattern as Gabriel walked in.

Of course it was Aziraphale’s fault. Gabriel had never known another celestial being, on either side, to adore tartan as much as Aziraphale.

“Go ahead and sleep. Aziraphale and I will keep working. We’ll let you know if we find anything in the morning.”

“Thanks. For…” Gabriel shrugged. _ For everything _ was too much and not enough to convey his gratitude for everything Crowley and Aziraphale were doing for him. Crowley just shrugged in return, gave him a small smile, and left the room, miracling the lights off and the curtains drawn as he went.

The door clicked shut, the light from the hall drifting in through a crack, and for the first time in his newfound mortal life, Gabriel found himself in darkness that he couldn’t break with a snap of his fingers. Swallowing down the inherent _ wrongness _ he felt at that, he let himself get comfortable on the bed.

Gabriel was certain that in the coming days, until they fixed him, he’d have a lot to learn about human bodies and how they worked. But right now, cuddled up in a large, comfy bed, with very little light in the room and the last vestiges of stress from the day leaving his exhausted mind for a moment, he fell asleep in moments without even worrying about _ how _ to do it. Small miracles, he supposed, as he drifted off.

Or it would have been a miracle, except he woke up screaming only hours later.

There were eyes, everywhere. And wings. Blood and light and darkness and screams and everything good and bad in the world. It was terrifying and overwhelming and the pain behind Gabriel’s eyes exploded with the same force as the vortexes of fire and death in his dream.

And to make it worse, it was Crowley who flew into the room, sunglasses off and yellow eyes wide.

Gabriel, still in the throes of a nightmare he could only half remember, flung himself off the bed and into the corner of the room, holding his hands up and mumbling nonsense.

Crowley said something to him he didn’t understand and then turned and walked out, leaving Gabriel to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure what he’d hit on the way down, but his back and one of his knees hurt. Still in the corner, but feeling a little more himself, he looked up when Aziraphale entered the room next, Crowley’s now sunglasses-covered face peeking out behind him but otherwise staying in the hallway.

Aziraphale sat down on the bed. “Hey. Heard you had a nightmare.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about. I don’t remember it.”

Crowley’s voice drifted in from the hall. “Might be his human brain is struggling to handle his celestial memories. It’s trying to process them in his sleep, like human brains usually do, but they’re too much for it.”

Aziraphale shared a look with Gabriel. “And how, pray tell, did you reach that conclusion, my dear?”

“...documentaries?” It was a question more than a statement, and Gabriel wasn’t quite sure what to make of any of it, but Aziraphale was shaking his head with a fond smile.

“Of course, silly me. Well, it’s as good a hypothesis as any, I suppose. You think a miracle will do the trick, push towards pleasant dreams?”

“Every night? Better not.”

He was right, of course. Even with Gabriel out of order, Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon would still come down on Aziraphale for performing too many unnecessary miracles. “Just tonight?” He asked softly, feeling the pain from before returning and realizing that he was coated with sweat.

“Yes, I quite think so. Come here, dear, let’s get you back to bed.”

Aziraphale gave him a hand up and waited for him to settle back against the pillow before pressing the tips of his fingers to Gabriel’s forehead and the former angel drifted off to sleep once again. The pair left him alone again, closing the door and flipping the lights off. 

The rest of the evening and night were thankfully uneventful for the three beings in the small cottage.

***

Over the next few months, they settled into something resembling normalcy.

Gabriel was thin, his weight dropping substantially in the first few weeks as he constantly struggled to keep any food in him. Over time, he found a few things he could keep down: plain white rice, carrots cooked to exactly the right taste and texture, a cup of tea with just a bit of honey. Anything else, he would retch up within minutes of eating, if he managed to get it down in the first place.

After the first couple weeks, his angelic smell had faded to the point that Crowley insisted he couldn’t smell it anymore. Gabriel thought he could still, but that might have been his imagination. Smells and tastes and sounds were still often too much for him, and it wasn’t unusual for him to spend a day in bed if they went out anywhere the day before. Everything was too much and too little all the time, as if his brain was constantly going but wasn’t actually processing anything.

Crowley and Aziraphale did what they could to wrap him, cautiously, into their lives. They took him shopping for clothes, a few days after he showed up, and while he was drawn to the suits he’d favored in Heaven, he found them scratchy on his skin. Instead he found himself picking out loose, comfortable articles.

After all, it wasn’t like he was leaving the cottage much, so no one would complain if he was just a bit underdressed.

He did shave, though. Every morning, starting the first. Aziraphale had excitedly mentioned that he might enjoy going to his barber, a shave and a haircut something of a comfort for the angel, but when Gabriel looked stricken at the suggestion, Crowley had guided him to the master bath off of their room (more spacious than the little one he usually used in the living room, and thus more able to accommodate both of them), and taught him how to shave with a small, modern razor.

Crowley was a constant surprise to Gabriel. He knew the demon didn’t like him, didn’t have to have special powers to feel the barely-contained rage under his skin. But every time he needed help, without fail, it was Crowley who was gently guiding him through things he didn’t know. Crowley teaching him about cooking, about brushing and flossing, about how _ humans _ exercise. All sorts of things that he didn’t do himself but he’d picked up over all the years he’d been on Earth.

It wasn’t quite like having a friend, but it was nice and amiable nonetheless. In much the opposite way Aziraphale was always a shoulder to lean on emotionally, but was a bit useless when it came to everyday human maintenance.

(And _ Everyday Human Maintenance _ was exactly how the pair had worded it, too, when they’d reached out to a few of their post-apocalyptic contacts for help in the caring and feeding of their newly minted human. Apparently nannying experience only got you so far.)

The nightmares didn’t get better, and instead seemed to get worse. Dark bags appeared under his eyes and he found himself sleeping at odd hours, so tired he could barely stand and so scared he couldn’t sleep anyway. They weren’t just memories of Heaven anymore, either, but had morphed into something new and horrifying, visions of Hell captured and torturing or even killing the still-absent Beelzebub.

It happened once when he was awake, too. Gabriel had thought back to before the apocalypse, attempting to remember something Sandalphon had once told him, and suddenly he was on the floor, his whole head a ball of bright pain as he clamped his eyes shut, curled up in a ball, and vomited right on the carpet.

Crowley - of course, it’s always Crowley, for some reason - had found him some time later, shivering and in the fetal position on the ground, too weak to stand. Hands hooked around his armpits, dragged him to standing, and maneuvered him into a warm bath.

He didn’t have much memory of what happened after, but he woke up from a dreamless sleep the next morning with new, clean clothes, the faint wooden smell he’d come to associate with the demon still in the room.

The next day, Aziraphale brought him a gift. A Bible, its pages with gilded edges and the font something old and pretty. Gabriel dragged his fingers over the cover, considering it.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost your faith, dear. And that seems to me a bad thing for an angel to lose.”

“I’m not an angel anymore. And-- have you ever had any faith?”

“You may not be at the moment, but that doesn’t change where you’ve come from. As for me, I’ve always had faith, some amount of it. I daresay Crowley probably has more, but it’s more complicated for him.”

And then he offered to pray with Gabriel. Every night, just before bed. At first, they did it in silence, and then when Gabriel shyly admitted he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, that he’d shown Her his love in so many ways, but never like this, Aziraphale started speaking his own prayers aloud.

It was many months after that before Gabriel offered to speak the prayer for the night, mumbling his way through a prayer of gratitude and a request for help.

The following weekend, he went to church. Something in him was tugging him there, and he found himself unable to ignore the craving, so he gave into it, tugging himself into his only itchy suit, and getting Crowley to do his hair so it’d look nice for once.

Aziraphale was at his side, looking entirely too uncomfortable at being in a House of God.

_ You must understand, dear, last time I was in a church, I nearly died, Crowley nearly burned his feet off, and the whole thing was blown to rubble. Not exactly something I’d like repeated _.

Gabriel prayed and sang and took communion and listened to the sermon with his old friend at his side, though Aziraphale didn’t take communion, claiming it would be _ odd _, as a celestial being, to even symbolically ingest the body of Christ.

He didn’t even retch it up, afterwards, and to himself, before they left the church, Gabriel said a little thanks to Her for allowing that, at least. He wouldn’t survive on communion wafers alone, but it was a rare treat to try something new without that fear.

Afterward, he felt better. More at peace. More whole than he had felt since that day, nearly a year before.

***

Michael was the one who arranged the meeting.

Beelzebub and Hastur agreed to meet with Sandalphon and Jerahmiel in a small park in London. It pointedly _ wasn’t _ St. James Park, but had a small pond and some children’s play structures to one side. This early in the morning, it was nearly empty, which was just how they all preferred it.

Sitting on a bench together and trying _ not _ to look like a pair of criminals or zombies, Beelzebub was sitting ramrod straight, staring ahead at the open space beside the pond.

They knew this entire affair was a long time in the making, and that Hastur had developed quite the repoire with Michael, but that didn’t make them any more comfortable about knowingly consorting with angels. Hastur, meanwhile, was hunched over, elbows on his knees. He was fiddling with his hands, his anxiety pouring off him like smoke off dry ice.

Beelzebub resisted the urge to make him stop, allowing him his fidgeting. It had been too long since they’d lost Ligur, and now that he was _ back _, too long to set this up. Hastur deserved his anxiety, the worry that for as long as he’d had to wait, there was a chance this would all turn sour.

When the magnificent lights shot down from the sky, Beelzebub fought back a shiver at the memory of Gabriel doing just that, once.

It had been a year, and they didn’t know where he was. That was why they were here, to speak with Heaven directly instead of through their subordinate, and to coordinate something, anything, to get the angel back. He couldn’t be _ nowhere _, but there weren’t enough angels or demons regularly stationed on Earth to make the search viable.

Actually, the only angel and demon regularly stationed on Earth these days were Aziraphale and Crowley.

Beelzebub _ did not _ want to ask the snake and his boyfriend for help.

Maybe they could start up the Chattering Order of St. Beryl again. Yes, that would be a much better solution.

Sandalphon and Jerahmiel were both wearing suits, Sandalphon’s usual tan, and Jerahmiel in a brilliant white that accentuated his white pupils, which nearly gleamed in the streetlights and early morning sun.

Hastur stood when they appeared.

“Ligur!” He called, his own black eyes and grimy coat in stark contrast to that of his old partner.

At first Jerahmiel didn’t seem to recognize the demon, his eyes and forehead scrunching up in confusion, before his face relaxed and his mouth dropped open. He shouted, “Hastur!” as he closed the distance between them and wrapped Hastur in his arms.

When they split apart, they continued holding hands, and when they walked away together, clearly wanting some space from their co-workers, they were chatting quietly about their time apart, speaking so fast it was nearly impossible to understand either of them. Which meant Beelzebub was left alone with Sandalphon.

“Be-el-ze-bub.” Sandalphon said, annunciating each syllable.

“Sandalphon. Any news on Gabriel’s whereabouts?”

“None. Word came from higher up, told us to stop looking.”

“You think he was cast out? Forced out of Heaven but not forced to fall?”

“I think, regardless of what Metatron says, the rest of us would like him back. _ All _ of us.”

“How many people can you spare?”

“Officially? None.”

“Unofficially?”

“Michael, Uriel, me, and Jerahmiel. Who, by the way, still uses _ Ligur _ when he’s on Earth. Something went wrong with him, when he came back to us. He turns into a lizard sometimes.”

“Hmmm.”

The two of them paused in their conversation to look over at the pair, now on the other side of the park. They were pressed together, hands wrapped around each other and heads together.

Beelzebub sighed. They could already see it, there would be no more battles between Heaven and Hell, because for all the new rules both sides had enacted, it seemed both sides had decided they’d rather love than fight. Well, all the better for the eventual war against humanity, then. 

Pity they missed their chance for another celestial war, though. Going up against Gabriel in battle would have been a thrill they could now only dream of.

“What about your side? Have anyone willing to look the other way and help us out?”

“Hastur.” Beelzebub didn’t even have to consider the question.

“...Anyone else?”

“Not if they don’t want to be tortured for the rest of eternity. Hastur has enough to lose, he’ll do what I’ll say if he knows what’s good for both of them.”

“Hardly fair. Jerahmiel-”

“Ligur knows what both of them are risking, and he has chosen to pursue it anyway. Do not mistake his relative angelic youth for naivety. He was a Duke of Hell, before, and he may be again one day.”

“You know, we don’t know how he became an angel. Usually that’s, uh, not how it goes.”

Beelzebub nodded. They had a few ideas, but the last thing they wanted to anyone figuring out the secret and taking advantage to sway one side or another.

Hastur returned to them now, a large lizard draped over his shoulder. When he stopped in front of them, he set the animal down and if morphed back into Ligur.

“Hey, Boss! Er, Prince of- or, uh, Beelzebub. Sir.” Ligur grinned when he saw Beelzebub, but the smile dropped off his face when he glanced over at Sandalphon.

“You’re fine, Jerahmiel. In fact, I think you’ll be on loan to Hell, for a bit.”

“What?”

Beelzebub spoke up. “The two of you are going to find Gabriel. He’s here, somewhere, and we’re going to find him. Under the radar. The upper echelons of Heaven and Hell cannot be made aware of your mission. Only speak to myself, Michael, or Sandalphon. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Check in when you find something.”

Beelzebub let the ground envelop them just as a bright light appeared and returned Sandalphon to Heaven.

***

“Should I get a job?”

“Hmmm?”

Gabriel and Aziraphale were sitting together in the living room, Aziraphale reading a book while Gabriel scrolled through his social media feeds on the phone Crowley had shoved into his hands a few months before. He’d just seen an ad for a job finding website.

“Well, that’s something humans do, right? Get jobs? If I’m going to be human for, well, for the rest of my life,” he paused, waiting for the surge in his stomach to die down at the reminder that he was mortal now and would someday _ die _. “Shouldn’t I get a job? Have an income? A-a place of my own?”

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need, dear. But if that’s what you want, I’m sure Crowley and I can come up with something.”

It was barely even a thought to him. The rest of Gabriel’s life was just a drop in the bucket of _ forever _, and soon enough he would be gone and they would go on and-

And he couldn’t breathe.

He would never get used to it, knowing that he was mortal, that someday his soul would be claimed by-

Well, by who? Death, of course, but after that? Would he go to Heaven, if he lived out his life in simple piety? Would he be banished to Hell, for having the audacity to deceive and disobey Her in the first place?

Would Beelzebub be there, waiting for his mortal soul? Take it into their hands and love it in that quiet way of theirs, even in his death?

A hand was resting on his back now, but it was too large, and though he wanted desperately to _ stop _, he found tears falling from the corners of his eyes and streaking down his cheeks.

“Shh, dear. Why don’t we go for a little walk in the garden, hmm? I hear Crowley just finishing with the new rose bushes, I’m sure he’s made them beautiful for us.” 

Somewhere along the line, Aziraphale had learned that redirecting Gabriel’s panic attacks was more effective than facing them head-on, and a walk in the garden was his favorite way to do so. It let them change scenery without leaving the vicinity, and Gabriel enjoyed the quiet, the bright colors not bothering his eyes the way the bustle of town could rile up his other senses.

As they walked, he muttered to Aziraphale, “I want to fix this.”

“I know. Heaven and Hell aren’t answering our calls, but we keep trying. I wish they’d respond to you at least, but they have such a strict no-mortal communication policy…”

“What you’re saying is, this is my own fault."

“I’m not saying that. You know all of those rules are in place for a reason, including the ban on picking up my calls. You didn’t want to lose anyone else, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t want to lose you, either. We were friends, once. I think about that a lot.”

“So many things changed with Eden. When I was positioned permanently on Earth, I had to find other people. Angels aren’t entirely solitary creatures, Gabriel, you know that.”

Gabriel glanced across the lawn to where Crowley was pointedly ignoring both of them as he threatened the new roses, _ sotto voce _. “He’s good for you.”

“He’s good for you, too. I see how gentle he is. Loves caring for humans, my Crowley.” Aziraphale chuckled as he said that, and Gabriel wondered just how many times the pair had taken in a human and cared for them for even a short period of time. The only time Heaven, and therefore Gabriel, was aware of was Warlock Dowling, but the way Aziraphale spoke, there must have been others.

Feeling calmer, Gabriel led them back inside, and got to work on his current problem.

A week later, a job came through. He filled a position at his church, coordinating charity events. It’s mostly behind-the-scenes work, talking to people on the phone and working on a computer in the quiet office. Gabriel didn’t ask if Aziraphale had a hand in it, though he suspected he did. That seemed fair enough, though, since it wasn’t like he could put _ “Archangel and Guardian of Israel, from the beginning of time to nearly the present” _ on his resume.

Gabriel enjoyed it. He enjoyed helping people, genuinely liked many of the people in the church office, though some of them were a bit too dogmatic for his taste, and found that having his days filled up with something besides Facebook actually helped his mental state.

It didn’t stop the nightmares, but at this point, he didn’t think anything would.

At home, he took a step up in helping out. On his walk home, Gabriel would stop at the local market and pick up fresh ingredients for dinner, having learned more about cooking from the church mums than from Crowley’s initial crash course. He cleaned, wiping down the bathroom and kitchen meticulously, and he tended his own, small garden, in the corner of the yard.

Unlike Aziraphale’s garden, full of flowers, or Crowley’s, which still resided indoors and was primarily greenery, Gabriel had taken to growing fruits and vegetables. They weren’t quite in season yet, hence his market runs, but by mid-summer, the tomatoes and peppers would be coming in, and they would have fresh produce right outside their window.

He also had a small herb garden in the kitchen, full of mild flavors and smells, that he used to lightly season their dinners.

Every night, Aziraphale joined him beside his bed, and they prayed together, prostrate on the ground and each now silent in their own messages to Her. 

_ My Lord, thank you for the plentiful bounty in my garden, for the love and companionship of your loyal servant and his partner whom had no reason to take me in, for the charity of your disciples and of the world that surrounds me. Thank you for giving me a new life in the face of disaster. But I must ask, My Lord: _

_ Why? _

She never responded. No one ever responded. Not to his prayers, not to his calls, not to him shouting towards the sky, angry and tearful on an otherwise lazy Saturday morning.

Until one day, they did.

***

“Look at this.”

Hastur and Ligur were enjoying a late-night work meeting in a graveyard outside of London, quiet and foggy in a way that would keep prying human eyes away. Ligur was digging his way through old call logs, looking for any indication of Gabriel contacting them.

“What have you got?”

“Calls to Heaven, from Principality Aziraphale. First one was the day after Gabriel disappeared. A coincidence, you think? They came frequently for a while, it looks like, and then started dying off. He’s still calling once a month, though.”

“You can’t think him and Crowley kidnapped Gabriel? That’d be ludicrous, even for them. They’re trying to stay out of the way of Heaven and Hell. Kidnapping an angel, and the partner of the Prince, at that would be a death sentence.”

“They already cheated death, though.”

Now curious himself, Hastur referenced Hell’s logs for the same time period. “...Shit.”

“Find something?”

“Crowley called us the day Gabriel went missing. And has called us, every day since then, for the past eighteen months. No one ever answered. _ I _ never answered.”

Ligur put a hand on his back and rubbed up and down. Since he became Jerahmiel, he touched Hastur more, was more free with his affection. It felt good, if a bit odd. And Hastur always wondered, in the back of his mind, if they would be able to continue after this assignment finished and they were forced to go their separate ways again.

“Shall we, then?”

“First thing in the morning?”

“Of course.”

Hastur preferred to work through the night, but he noticed Ligur seemed to glow in the daylight, something brightening in him when the sun was on him. And anyway, with the hours of night they had left, they could instead enjoy a stroll around the peaceful cemetery they’d found. It had been a favorite pastime of theirs before Ligur’s change, and despite everything else, that at least had stayed the same. They clasped hands and walked beside each other amongst the graves.

In the morning, Ligur pulled the address for Aziraphale, since Heaven had been tracking his position since he’d broken away, without actually looking in on him at all, and they took off towards the cottage the angel, and hopefully the demon as well, called home.

Besides the eyes and clothes, Ligur’s wings were the first things Hastur noticed were _ different _.

They looked like hawk wings, a gorgeous white and mottled brown, but they were a bit ratty looking in general, with some less-important feathers bent or missing. He didn’t know what it was with angels not caring for their wings, but he made a note to help Ligur out and return his wings to the fullness they were before.

His own wings resembled those of a red-winged black bird, the shock of red near his shoulders giving way to white and then black over the rest of the wing. He spent a few minutes each day grooming them, making sure they were in their bets condition.

Anyone who met him would assume he was filthy and proud of it, but the look (and smell) of his clothes were just to keep humans from getting too close. The bumpy frog skin that covered his body in patches was merely a function of his true form bleeding through, something he thought was quite beautiful and unique to demons, though that wasn’t quite true anymore. Ligur’s face was covered skin reminiscent of his lizard form, too.

They arrived at the cottage mid-morning, landing in the garden. Hastur accidentally crushed a rose bush on his landing, and Ligur miracled it back to life after helping him off of it. They headed up the steps to the back door, and Ligur knocked while Hastur stood back.

There was no answer.

Ligur knocked again. And again.

“Think we should just break in?”

“Might be the only option.”

But before Hastur could try unlocking the door, the lock clicked and the door swung slowly open.

The hallway was empty.

The angel entered first, followed by the demon. Both were tense, unsure of what they would find in the rest of the cottage. A captive angel, perhaps? Two renegade celestial beings, looking to go out with a bang?

But no, when they entered the living room, Aziraphale and Crowley were both there. Aziraphale had his nose in a book, and Crowley was napping with his head in the angel’s lap.

Certainly not the look of criminals.

“Oh, hello there. Hastur and… Ligur? Is that you? When did all this happen, dear? You’re an angel, now? And working together?”

Aziraphale’s surprised voice woke Crowley, who sat up and stared wide-eyed at the sight in front of him. “Uh-uh. Nope. Angel, we’re not doing this. We only have one guest room, and it’s full. I’ve worked too hard on him to force him out and take in a new set. Find somewhere else for your lost celestial puppies to live.”

The look of horror on Aziraphale’s face met the confusion on Hastur and Ligur’s faces before Aziraphale burst into laughter.

“Not quite like that, dear. I don’t think they’re here to murder us, so shall we hear what they have to say?”

And so they did, as Hastur and Ligur explained everything the two had missed in Heaven and Hell over the past year and half, and Ligur’s newfound angelic position, and also _ do you by chance know where our certain missing archangel is because we have a lot of very powerful people expecting us to find him and we’re at a bit of a loss. _

Considering the last time Crowley had seen these two, he’d murdered one of them and nearly murdered the other, the ensuing conversation managed to stay relatively civil. 

After a time, Crowley rose, without speaking, and left the room, abandoning Aziraphale to continue the small talk with their guests as he snuck down the hall towards the bedrooms. He opened a door on the right and stepped in, closing it behind him and leaning against the door when he did. 

“So, what’s going on? Can I come out?”

“Heaven and Hell are here to collect you and take you home.” Crowley drawled out the statement, his eyebrows raised and an unreadable expression on his face.

“Who came? Is Beelzebub…?”

“No. It’s Hastur and Ligur. Well, Hastur and Jerahmiel, but I get the impression he misses his old name.”

Gabriel deflated a little. “What do you think? Should I go with them?”

“I think that’s going to have to be your decision. We haven’t told them about you, yet, but they said they’re working for Michael and Beelzebub directly. You’ve been missed, apparently.”

“I- I’m not sure.”

Crowley nodded. “We’ll turn them away, then. Anything you need to help with the decision?”

The name came from his mouth before he could think about it. “Beelzebub.”

“Yeah, alright. Sure. Bring the Prince of Hell here, to our little slice of paradise. Great. Your church is gonna love you, Angel, bringing them here.”

He slid back out of the room and down the hall as Gabriel sat back on his bed.

On one hand, Gabriel was glad to hear that Heaven and Hell knew where he was, that his friends and lover were looked for him and wanted him back. On the other hand, he still didn’t have his powers, he wasn’t an angel, he had panic attacks now and worked a low income job at his local church and he prayed prostrate like a mortal. And they had let him in this life for eighteen months, which was a drop in the bucket of an immortal life but felt to him like an eternity in and of itself. He wondered, vaguely, if he wanted to go back, now.

_ I’ve been found, but then why do I feel even more lost than before? _


	2. Part II

It was a week later before Beelzebub showed up, Michael in tow.

They didn’t bother knocking, simply materializing together in the cottage living room while Crowley, Aziraphale, and Gabriel were eating a late lunch in the dining room.

Which, of course, put all three of them on high alert, Aziraphale going so far as to grab a steak knife from the counter to defend them with. He dropped it when he spotted the pair, however, cautiously stepping into the room with them as Crowley stayed by Gabriel.

“Beelzebub. Michael. What can we do for you on this fine day?”

“My presence was requested, Angel. Michael is here to ensure this isn’t a trap.”

“Beelzebub!” Gabriel made it around Crowley and sped into the room, his hands landing on their shoulders as he realized he wasn’t quite sure how to treat them. The flies surrounded him, as they often had, all those months ago. It was a comfort he’d forgotten, during his mortal life. Normal flies merely annoyed him, flying around him one at a time so he couldn’t quite block out the buzz, couldn’t get used to their tiny weight landing on him.

Beelzebub, it seemed, had no concern as to how to treat Gabriel, because they grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged him down to their face, kissing him with the same roughness he had loved, before. He relished it, the brief moment of contact more than he’d dreamed of for so long. When they parted, though, the look on Beelzebub’s face was even more stern than usual.

“You’ve been here, then, this whole time? With  _ them _ ?”

“Not by choice. My powers are gone. And no one was answering the damn phones.”

Michael had the decency to look a little ashamed at that, though Gabriel figured it was probably just for show. After all, she could have answered if she wanted to. Or at least checked her voicemail. That wasn’t the important thing right now, though. Beelzebub tilted their head at his words.

“Gone? You’re mortal?”

“I am.”

“Michael. Fix this.” Beelzebub turned to the angel, the order only enough to earn them raised eyebrows. “This was your side’s doing, after all.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy.” Crowley was the one who cut in, his eyes covered by sunglasses but the sad look on his face still readable. “Aziraphale and I tried everything we could think of in the first few months Gabriel came to us. We tried returning his powers ourselves, but it wasn’t successful. I think it needs to come from someone… higher up.”

“God or Satan.” Gabriel said, his face serious as he nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

There was a silence, after that. Petitioning either being for, well, anything, wasn’t exactly something that tended towards success. Especially a mortal begging for celestial powers.

“Satan would grant this, for a price.” Beelzebub was the first to speak, certainty and determination in their voice.

“You know, I really do love you, Beelzebub. But, uh, maybe not? I  _ really _ don’t want to owe Satan  _ anything _ .” 

“It’s your decision, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft as he placed an arm on the former angel’s shoulder. “And it’s a perfectly reasonable decision to stay mortal, if the risk is more than you can bear.”

No one, Gabriel noted, suggested that God might grant the request. Someone had to have taken away his powers, after all, and if it wasn’t Satan, that left only one remaining possibility.

Once upon a time, before the Garden, before anything in the mortal plane existed, Gabriel had been a trusted adviser of God. And now She punished him. But he still had faith, he still prayed, and he still served Her, if in a different capacity.

“If I wish to petition God, would anyone stand with me?”

Michael frowned. “Allying oneself with you in such circumstances could lead whomever did so to fall, Gabriel, if this was Her doing to begin with. It is not something I could ask any in the ranks.”

Gabriel looked to Aziraphale, who dropped his eyes. “Not even you, Aziraphale? The angel who loved a demon first, and humanity second, and God only third? Surely you would have no moral quandary over such an act.”

Crowley was the one who answered, as Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m not sure you understand what is entailed,  _ Angel _ , when one of us falls. It’s not all bright clothes and happy reunions like Ligur got in Heaven. They torture you, they burn you alive for  _ years _ . By the time it’s done, your will is broken and you are utterly alone in your suffering. So,  _ no _ , Aziraphale will not be risking it.”

“Your scales are out, dear,” Aziraphale muttered, running a hand along Crowley’s cheek. Then, to Gabriel, “I’m so sorry, but I think this will have to be something you do yourself.”

Gabriel watched as Crowley took a few deep breaths and his scales slowly receded to his usual pale skin. “Okay. Yes. I can- I can do that. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? She could say ‘no’ and then I’ll just be right back here again, right?”

No one responded, but Gabriel guessed he wasn’t the only one thinking of an entire history of floods, destroyed cities, and even a young couple driven out of their Garden home. If he was very lucky, She would choose only to kill him in her anger. If he wasn’t, the entire race could pay for his insolence.

Michael approached him, holding out a hand. “I can get you through the Gates. After that, it’ll be up to you. Are you ready?”

Gabriel looked around the room, eyes passing over Aziraphale and Crowley, both looking entirely too worried, though Crowley was trying not too, and over to Beelzebub. He took their hand, swallowing as he tried to figure out what to say. They spoke first, their voice hushed.

“If you do this, and succeed, it will be the end. We will return to as we were before. Enemies. Rivals.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I must try.”

He pressed a kiss to their cheek, letting himself nuzzle their face and feel, one more time, the buzzing of the flies around him, keeping him safe and reminding him that he was loved.

Michael took his left hand, and just before they disappeared in a beam of light, someone to his side pressed something into his right.

They were off.

***

Heaven was bright.

Too bright. For any mortal, but even more so for Gabriel, who still tended to be a bit sensitive in general. As soon as they appeared in the front lobby of Heaven, he dropped to his knees, clutching his head in his hands. The thing that had been handed to him was forgotten as it fell to the ground.

Michael’s hands were on him, pulling his eyes away. “Close your eyes. You’ll be fine, but I need your hands away from your face. That’s it, you’re okay. Open your eyes now.”

There was something on his face, and Gabriel fisted is hands into his thighs as he forced his eyes back open, barely restraining himself from bringing them back to his face.

The world was dim and red.

_ Crowley’s sunglasses _ .

Of course. He’d been to Heaven once, had finally confided in Gabriel months into their cohabitation how they had both survived their trials. The demon would have known that the bright light of Heaven would be too much for a human.

Overwhelming gratitude gave way to dread as he looked around the room with fresh eyes.

It was exactly as he’d left it. Perhaps it would always be the same, had been for over six thousand years now, but for some reason Gabriel had thought that since he had changed, Heaven would change, too. But now as he sat on the floor here, looking up at what once was his everyday surroundings, Gabriel didn’t feel as if he’d come home, no tugging in his heart at the prospect of cuddling up with a good book or cooking a nice dinner. It felt entirely alien, as if he’d never set foot in the white before.

For as foreign as it felt, it was also uncomfortably familiar, and as Gabriel pulled his arm away from Michael’s grasp and stood up, he felt something in his mind relax and open up.

Human memory is an odd thing. Unlike angels and demons, who can simply recall anything they wish from the course of their existence with little effort, humans need triggers for their memories. Sounds or sights or smells. It’s the last one that suddenly renewed Gabriel’s memory of Heaven, bringing it forward and letting it wash over him like an old blanket.

The smell of Heaven is difficult to describe to humans. There’s nothing quite like it on Earth, not the floral scent of roses, or the salty, fatty scent of a roast dinner, or the pungent reek of toilet bowl cleaner. It’s something  _ other _ , that is hard to qualify and even more difficult to compare, beyond that it is divine. Gabriel wondered absently, for the first time, if every human who smelled it would smell something different, because though he recognized the scent now, it took on notes that reminded him of Aziraphale’s garden and Crowley’s cookies. Scents of  _ home _ that didn’t feel right here, in such a sterile, empty place.

“Good luck,” Michael said to him softly, clasping his upper arms and giving them a gentle squeeze before letting go and walking away in the opposite direction than where he needed to head.

She would do her part, what little she could. It was simple enough to reorganize things for an afternoon, keep all the angels out of the wings leading to the central throne room.

After all, no one was even supposed to be in the innermost chambers, save Metatron and God Herself. 

Gabriel hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with Metatron. The sunglasses were a godsend - er, demonsend - for his eyes, but he had nothing to protect his ears. Could mortals safely speak to God, hear Her voice, without suffering?

He wondered if he had, perhaps, not thought this through enough.

Now was a bit late to back out, though, especially now that Michael had left, and Gabriel instead began his journey, taking cautious step after cautious step.

Though Gabriel had never spent time in Hell, he knew the basic floor plan. Lots of levels, each one with a different symbolic quality, all of that. He wasn’t looking forward to exploring it, if things came to that. But he was more concerned about making it through Heaven.

From the front lobby to the throne room is a single path. Unfortunately, most of that direct path is a labyrinth. Complete with a beast. Or so the story went.

Gabriel had never been, not since  _ before _ the beast.

He rounded one corner, and then another. Passing through three doors in a series of long hallways, he knew the next would be the beginning of the maze. But before he could open it, someone appeared at his side.

“Sandalphon?”

“It’s good to see you, Gabriel.”

“What are you doing here? No one’s supposed to be here. Michael-”

“Gave word to the archangels that you were doing something stupid again, and made sure everyone else got out of the way for you. But I wanted to see you before you attempted the labyrinth. It is not impossible, but I have a gift that will help you.” He held out a satchel filled with who-knew-what and heavy on Gabriel’s shoulder. “It has everything you’ll need in it, I should think. Come back to me, brother. It’s been lonely up here, without you.”

“I’ll do my best. Thank you, Sandalphon.”

Gabriel bowed his head in farewell, and Sandalphon took it between his heads, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Love and warmth spread throughout Gabriel’s body, and he felt lighter than he had since all of this started, as if he had again fallen prostrate in prayer, and had all of his answered.

As Sandalphon walked away, Gabriel pushed through the second to last door before the throne room, and entered the maze he was sure might well be his doom.

Like previous rooms, everything was white.

Unlike them, there was a massive monster of a creature flying above him with six wings and too many eyes, not unlike some of the beasts he’d seen in his dreams, with the head and mane of a lion and the hindquarters of an ox, breathing fire down on him and trying to grab him with its claws. Gabriel took the first opportunity he had to dig through the satchel and see what might be of use in it, and was disappointed to see that Aziraphale’s misplaced flaming sword hadn’t made it into the sack.

But there was a sword, beautifully adorned with a giant serpent, not in reference to Crowley, but to Sandalphon himself. It must be the angel’s own blade, one which Gabriel hadn’t seen for millennia. Gabriel remembered as he took it in his hands that Sandalphon helped people to pray and encouraged them to bend to the earth to do so.

Which is just about what he did now, crouching low to the ground and throwing the shield up as the monster above him dove again. Flames licked around him and singed his sleeves, but Gabriel was safe.

Continuing down the labyrinthine path, letting old memories guide him as he occasionally ducked under the shield, protecting himself from the flames and occasionally the snap of teeth.

After a time, he began to feel hungry, stopping again while the beast was out of sight to grab a sandwich out of the sack. It looked to be banana and mayo, which certainly wouldn’t have been Gabriel’s first choice, but that’s how things usually went when you let an angel pack your lunch of you. He took a bite and let himself gag, hoping that he might not retch for once and failing.

Swallowing around the lump quickly forming in his throat, he tried to stuff the rest down before his mind could react.

It was then that the beast, larger and more terrifying close up, landed in front of him. It’s paws and hooves boomed as they hit the floor. An overpowering roar forced Gabriel to his knees, trying desperately to cover his ears from the onslaught, but he couldn’t fully with the sword and shield in his hand.

The beast charged, and Gabriel just managed to jump out of the way.

Another pass, and then another. They could be caught in this loop forever, if Gabriel wasn’t already exhausted. He needed sleep, needed water, as sweat began to pour down his face from the exertion of avoiding the beast’s powerful jaw, razor sharp claws, and thundering hooves.

He took his chance as the creature squared off with him again, pausing it’s rush to taunt him and try again to roast him in its firebreath.

The shield held in front of him, he walked toward it, the heat overwhelming. As he approached, it lifted a paw to swipe at him, and he took his opportunity.

Sandalphon’s blade cut through the paw like a knife through butter. Gabriel barely felt any resistance as he swung, blood dripping from the resulting wound. It wasn’t much, he didn’t think. Certainly not enough to kill it, or even to incapacitate it, considering its wings, but it responded with a pained cry and took to the air again, flying far away from him and staying away, at least for the time being.

Afterwards, he leaned against the white stone wall that made up the maze and let himself drift for a moment with his eyes closed. Now that he had a moment to think and process, his stomach roiling from the unpleasant intrusion of the sandwich he’d eaten before, mixed with the dizziness from the intense heat. Reaching into the sack without looking, he pulled out a bottle of what he hoped was water and poured it down his throat, grateful for the cool liquid. When he was finished, he allowed the bottle to slip from his hand to rest against his thigh, and he dozed for a time.

Eventually, with no understanding of how long he’d been there, he got up and continued on.

Gabriel couldn’t have said how much time passed while he was in that maze, how many questionable foods he stuffed into himself from Sandalphon’s sack over the course of what must have been days, or how many long hours he slept, fitfully and without much actual rest. The beast was still in flight around the maze, but it stopped attacking him, staying carefully away as long as he had the serpent blade at his side.

Despite the apparent safety, he was afraid, and alone, and each step felt more difficult than the previous.

Until he came to a man. He was young, and Gabriel didn’t understand how he was there, neither mortal nor angel.

“Greetings,” said the man, but as he spoke, Gabriel understood that he was not a man, and that he was not speaking so much as he was forcing the thoughts directly into Gabriel’s brain.

“How much further to the throne room?” Gabriel asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Not much, wayfarer. But first, I have a question for you.”

“Ask, sir, so I may be on my way.”

“Do you have free will, mortal?”

Gabriel sighed, and sat back against the wall, his preferred position for resting these days. This was a question he’d been wondering about since that first day. Crowley was all about free will, while Aziraphale believed passionately, even now, in the Ineffable Plan. But Gabriel lived between two worlds.  _ Did _ he have free will?

Was he the one who chose to love Beelzebub, who felt that spark of attraction because he chose to feel it, and pursued it because he chose to pursue it? Or had his God pulled on his strings, pushed him into something he would not otherwise have considered, and then punished him for something he had no control over?

Did he believe in a kind and loving, but hands-off God, or a cruel God who enjoyed meddling?

Nibbling on a sandwich as he thought, Gabriel considered back to his time at the cottage, at the church, in the garden. He thought of Aziraphale introducing him to the simple joys of life, of good food, soft blankets, and old books. He thought of Crowley’s careful hand, guiding him through the most basic of care as his new body trembled with anxiety and illness.

He thought of Beelzebub, who held his hand and kissed him and on very, very rare occasions, returned one of his hugs, their head settling against his ribs and their hands around his waist while their flies buzzed around his head.

And finally, he believed, he had his answer.

“If I may suggest, stranger, the answer is not so clear-cut as a  _ yes  _ or  _ no _ . God has pushed me, as She wished, in many directions. In some ways, my existence has merely been a matter of acting and reacting to that pressure. That would, I believe, imply that I lack free will.

“But there are many beings among the mortal plane, and many more in Heaven and Hell. They are occasionally prodded, as I am, in certain ways, but She must eventually step aside and permit each of us to go our own way. I make my own decisions, I decide what I believe is right or wrong, and I act as I must on the knowledge I have. Free will, you might call it.

“What I will tell you is this, stranger, I am a loyal disciple of God. I served her in my capacity as an angel, and I continue to do so as I can in my mortal life. I did so then because I was created to, and I do so now because I choose to. More than that, I intend to give myself to Her again. Not because She requires it, but because I  _ want _ to. Blind loyalty is a mighty tempter, but intentional loyalty takes the skill of a true leader. God is good, and I wish to serve Her because I believe in Her Plan, and Her goodness.”

The man regarded him for a long moment, and then nodded. “An insightful answer, ancient one. I will step aside and permit your passage. Follow the eagle to your final destination. You will find yourself soon at God’s feet. Do not forget your answer here.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gabriel said, catching sight of something moving despite the coloration from his glasses, and following it at a run past the man and down another path.

The eagle was brown, red, and white, not a bald eagle, but something like it, Gabriel supposed.

He admittedly had little to do with the creation of animals, and only knew about the bald eagle because he spent so much time in the United States. It was hard to avoid there, and as a result was the only bird he was particularly familiar with.

Gabriel jogged behind this eagle until it reached a set of stairs that descended up beyond where he could see. This section of the maze was shorter than the previous, and he was certain he only ran for an hour or two. But he was still human, and such a long run prompted him to rest again, drinking more of his water and gazing up at the stairs in reluctance. The eagle perched on a wall above him, and after drinking his fill, he drifted to sleep.

It was the first time he’d slept since entering the maze without the threat of the beast over his head, and Gabriel took full advantage. He didn’t know how long he was out, but when he finally awoke, his mouth was gummy and his sunglasses had come off his face.

Swishing some water, he found himself missing his toothbrush back at the cottage. When he was done, he blindly grabbed the glasses and slid them back on his face. Dragging himself slowly back to standing, Gabriel took his first step up the stairs to the throne room.

The bird led the way, having waited for him through his long nap, and was now flying about twenty feet in front of him, landing until he came too close, and then taking off again.

Unable to touch the eagle but overwhelmed by its presence and guidance, Gabriel struggled up the path behind it, not wanting to stop or falter as it gave its time to take him to his Lord. The steps must have measured in the thousands, too many to count, but he continued on as the bird did.

After far too long, they reached the door.

It was ornate. Even with the glasses, Gabriel could make out the incredible designs tracing the door, inlaid with multicolored gems. Wondrous, even.

He stood at the door for some time, letting his fingers run along the crevices and enjoying looking at something that wasn’t white - or, well, red - for just a bit. And then, without him even pushing on it, the door opened.

The throne room was as he remembered, large and commanding, with a gilded throne in the center. Around it sat the man and eagle from the maze, as well as a lion and an ox. The lion roared as Gabriel approached.

Metatron appeared, taking a form that Gabriel could see and could perhaps even touch, if he wanted. “Gabriel. It has been too long. My brother mentioned that you might arrive at our step sooner or later.”

“Sandalphon warned you?”

“Sandalphon apprised me of the situation. He loves you, you know. Remembers your kindness to him, when he was human.”

Gabriel regarded the angel in front of him. He wasn't warm or welcoming, as Sandalphon had been. There was no love in his voice. They were not brothers, and Metatron was not happy Gabriel was standing before him now. "You aren't confined by the same fondness, I suppose."

“I am not. As the voice of God, I cannot be. It is not my place.”

“I wish to speak to God.”

“Her voice would destroy you,  _ mortal _ .”

“Then permit my destruction.”

Metatron sighed and disappeared. Gabriel wondered how much the angel really cared about his destruction, as little as he thought about the request. Instead, he waited, sitting on the steps beside the lion and cautiously tangling his fingers in its fur. It allowed the cautious touches, and Gabriel wasn’t entirely sure he was imagining it pushing up against his hand.

And then God appeared.

Her chosen visage, not her true form, but one she took now for his benefit, was beautiful. Middle aged, with dark skin and curly black hair and a dress that draped over her body from one shoulder. Her voice, when she spoke, was even and quiet.

“Gabriel, my child.”

“My Lord.” He responded, bowing low.

“You are troubled. Speak to me, and I shall listen.”

Gabriel was silent for a long moment, trying to find the words to voice his thoughts.

“I fell in love with a demon, Mother. And I was punished for it. I don’t understand. Why was I punished with mortality? What wasn’t I simply forced to fall?”

God’s eyes glowed, and while Gabriel was certain they were as brilliant white as everything else in this place, they shone a demonic red through his glasses. The anger that rolled off of her was overwhelming for a moment, and he drew away in fear, trembling as he pressed himself into the stoic lion still at his side. Seeing his response, she carefully stilled, her eyes returning to a pretty green, that somehow Gabriel could still make out despite his glasses. Her anger, he realized, was not directed at him.

“Your punishment was not my doing, Gabriel, though I cannot deny Heaven’s role in your suffering. I wish I could give you the answers you seek, but they are not mine to share.” She walked over to him and sat beside him, her fingers trailing down his face before she took him in her arms. All at once, Gabriel felt like a small child, cradled safely in his Mother’s arms. In Her love. He shivered at the sensation, as it poured into his entire body and enveloped him. “But I will tell you this, my child: I have watched and listened as you bore this change of fortune, and I could not be more proud of your courage in its face. Your piety in the face of such a burden is something I treasure.”

Gabriel nodded against Her shoulder. He felt tears run down his cheeks as the force of her love became  _ too much _ , her comfort something he’d longed for for so long, and was so glad to have now.

“I wish to ask a favor, Lord.” He said in barely more than a whisper, when he was finally able to speak again.

“Speak your wish.”

“Permit my return to your realm. Restore my powers, and I will serve you again for the rest of eternity.”

“Oh, my sweet child. I wish it could be that easy, but now that the Plan has changed, I’m afraid I have different intentions for you.” 

“Please, My Lord.” His voice broke and he found himself begging, repeating his pleas over and over again. She permitted it only a minute before silencing him by running a hair through his hair and along his cheek. Her lips pressed against the top of his head and he felt his desperation fade. She would be with him no matter what happened today.

Gabriel swallowed. He thought back to his conversation with the strange man. He had free will, to some extent. A choice in the matter.

“You cannot -  _ will not _ \- help me, because you need me to serve you in  _ this  _ form?”

“Your path will be clear to you soon enough, Gabriel. This is not the end for you, and your final destiny is not mortality. You will continue to serve me, both in the human way you have come to appreciate, and in a new way, that will expand your family and your understanding. Keep searching, child, and your path - and the path of your family - will become clear. Do what you know in your heart is right, and you will serve me as I so wish. I trust you, Gabriel, to do good.”

He believed, in that moment, in a kind and loving God, one that pushed you towards a path and then let you wander down it without Her guidance. But Gabriel also noted her words about family. Aziraphale, Crowley, and himself. And, apparently, others. She wasn’t asking him to go alone, but for him to go with others who had forged their own paths.

As he withdrew from her arms, feeling calmer if not happier or fulfilled by her cryptic responses, Gabriel met her eyes and nodded.

The door opened as he approached, and Gabriel didn’t look back.

***

Sandalphon was waiting outside when the door closed behind him.

“So?”

“Take me home, Sandalphon. To the cottage.”

“I’m sorry, Gabriel. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll keep speaking to you in my prayers, my brother. Our Mother has a different path for me, but that does not mean I am turning my back on you.”

Sandalphon wrapped an arm around Gabriel’s shoulder, and in a moment they were back in Aziraphale’s garden. Pulling the sunglasses from his face, Gabriel pulled his brother into a final hug, gripping tightly to his back and letting tears fall, before they parted and Sandalphon left. Feeling wary as he took the steps one at a time, the muscles in his legs protested the movement after the thousands of stairs they travelled in in Heaven.

_ Home _ .

It smelled right, floral and earthy and like a dozen home-cooked meals and a warm fire, too. The lights were dim, had always been dimmer than normal, since Crowley’s eyes didn’t handle bright lights well, and Gabriel welcomed the yellow glow that bathed the room.

Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t anywhere to be seen, but Gabriel could vaguely hear them in their room together, and instead of bothering them, he curled up on the couch and fell asleep nearly instantly.

He didn’t dream.

***

The whole cottage smelled of eggs.

Hard boiled. With a bit of salt.

And bacon, too. American bacon, if he had to guess, from the smell.

Gabriel awoke with a small smile on his face.

“Oy! Aziraphale, look who’s up,” Crowley exclaimed from his perch on a chair across from Gabriel. “You’ve been out about five days. We were trying to decide if we needed to take you to the hospital, or if you’d died and we needed to figure out how to hide a body. Waking up is a big help for us. How are you? How’d it go?”

Crowley was always talkative when he was nervous, Gabriel had learned, and he let the words wash over him instead of trying to follow along. Soon enough, Aziraphale was pressing a plate into his hands, and as he took a bite of his breakfast - plain scrambled eggs, a piece of white toast, and a piece of bacon, which was as about as much as he could handle food-wise, even though he was starving - he listened to Aziraphale ask a similar question to Crowley’s.

“I’m fine. I met with God. She- well, she didn’t say much of anything, just that I needed to continue down my path without her interference.”

“What will you do, then?”

“I’m not sure yet. I could try Hell, I suppose. Beelzebub would help me reach Satan at least. Wouldn’t be nearly as bad as that goddamn labyrinth, I bet.”

Aziraphale reached up and rubbed his shoulder, and Gabriel leaned into the touch. “It’s up to you, Dear, but keep in mind that Satan will ask for something, and it won’t be easy to part with.”

“I know.”

“Y’know, mortality isn’t all bad. Doesn’t get boring, at least,” Crowley interjected. Aziraphale silenced him with a look and he took another piece of his bacon, looking thoughtful.

Gabriel smiled softly, God’s love still coursing through him, though the overwhelming feeling of it was fading fast. “She said mortality wasn’t my destiny, that there was something more for me. I just have to find it.”

They finished their meal in silence after that, and Gabriel retired to his room to rest a bit more.

He woke up in the evening, sometime after dinner, to Aziraphale peeking his head in. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Just figured if you were up, you might like to pray.”

Gabriel nodded. “I’d love to, thank you.” He hesitated a moment, before asking, “when you pray, do you speak to her? I always… well, Sandalphon…”

“Sandalphon always takes extra care to guide his brothers in prayer. You will always be drawn to him, regardless of how long you might live.”

So they prayed, to a God that loved them, and trusted them to do what was right for Her, even when it meant abandoning their Heavenly home. Gabriel felt a simple joy in praying, after everything that had happened, and when that familiar wave of calm washed over him, he was glad to know it was Sandalphon listening to him and lending his love.

Aziraphale left him for the night, and Gabriel slept again.

***

_ The eagle was there. The same one from the maze, just sitting beside him. In this garden, outside of Heaven, he could see the crest on its head, and the patterning on its wings. _

_ He reached out to pet it, and it flew away. _

_ Once he had trusted this eagle to show him the way, and Gabriel supposed he must do the same thing again. _

_ It took him through fields and over hills. They walked along a little stream for some time, before crossing it and climbing down a large cliff. It was difficult, but Gabriel  _ trusted _ and with that trust, the bird seemed to wrap a protection around him. _

_ After a long time, they came to a pit. _

_ Fire roared from somewhere below, and around the edge it reeked of sulfur. Crowley smelled like this sometimes, when his scales came out and he wasn’t paying attention. Gabriel considered him as he stood on the precipice, looking down into a hole too deep to see the bottom. _

_ A voice, low and rumbling, spoke to him. _

_ “You are not mine to claim, mortal, but I will have you, for a price.” _

_ Satan. Fallen angel ascended to a god, or something like it. Probably a mistake to even speak to him. Definitely not the sort of person you want to make a deal with. _

_ “What price, Lord?” He was not Gabriel’s Lord, not yet. _

_ “Fealty.” _

_ “You want me to become a demon.” _

_ “I want your loyalty. In exchange, your powers and immortality are returned, and you are permitted to love whomever you wish.” _

_ “And how would I demonstrate my fealty to you, Lord?” _

_ “That is for you to determine.” _

_ The pit exploded in fire, and he recoiled as the heat began to melt his flesh. _

Gabriel woke up with a cry.

***

His skin was on fire, and all he could think of was the day he’d tried to kill Aziraphale.

The hellfire had licked at his skin that day, not close enough to hurt but enough that it had terrified him, forced him to consider that he had finally fucked up badly enough that he might pay for it.

He remembered the look in Aziraphale’s eyes, angry and ecstatic at the idea of scaring the archangels.

He remembered his brothers’ hands in his, as they backed away, faced with a monstrosity they’d never before known, an angel who could not die.

When, in reality, Aziraphale’s gentle hands touched his hot face, trying to soothe him out of his nightmares and memories, Gabriel flinched, his hand coming up and catching Aziraphale in the cheek. He didn’t notice, just had to get away from the fire and the confusing, distant sight in front of him.

It was some time later before something slithered onto Gabriel’s lap and up his torso.

Crowley, now a snake, wrapped around his neck and down his arm. He settled his head on Gabriel’s hand, trusting him more than the former angel did himself at the moment, that Gabriel would be gentle with him.

Gabriel let the snake climb him, let him tickle his fingers with his tongue. The weight was comfortable, the body on his neck smooth.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before the room around him faded from the terrifying bright white to the usual yellowish glow that Crowley and Aziraphale both preferred in their home. As he reentered the world, he stroked the head in his hand, curling his other hand’s fingers into Crowley’s tail. Things must have been desperate. Crowley didn’t like taking his snake form these days, and Gabriel had never witnessed it himself.

Feeling nearly-human, Gabriel stood from his place in the corner, the same corner he always seemed to press himself into when he was stressed or scared, and sat back down on the bed, lifting Crowley and setting him down next to him. The demon returned to his usual form, in boxers and a t-shirt that suggested he’d been asleep as well before Gabriel’s panic.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Gabriel playing with his hands while Crowley watched him.

When Crowley finally spoke, there was no malice in his voice. “You punched Aziraphale.”

“I was remembering the trial.”

“You tried to kill him.”

“He wasn’t him.”

Knowing that Crowley had been Aziraphale in that moment didn’t change the association he had with that face. Both of them had  _ power _ that Gabriel couldn’t imagine, power that came with loving and living with someone for thousands of years.

“Was that what your nightmare was about, then?”

There was a knock on the door before Gabriel could reply, and Aziraphale poked his head in, face already free of any bruise Gabriel may have left. “I made tea, if anyone would like it.”

Gabriel invited him in, keeping trembling hands out of sight as he reminded himself that Aziraphale wouldn’t hurt him, had never tried to hurt him, technically, and the three of them sat with their tea cups in their hands as Gabriel explained his dream and the memory he’d woken up to. “I have to decide whether or not to take the deal, I guess.”

“Turning towards Satan, willingly, would be turning away from God.” Crowley said it simply, as if Gabriel’s choice hadn’t had incredible ramifications.

“She said I must seek out the path that is right for me, to do good in Her name. How am I to know that this isn’t it?”

“You can’t, but just consider that there may yet be other options we haven’t thought of yet.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley as he said this, and Gabriel deflated a little as he thought of the two of them picking their own side. To them, love and loyalty went hand in hand, and the idea of giving his loyalty to Satan would be much the same as turning his back on God.

They weren’t wrong, he knew that, but that didn’t make the decision any easier.

“Talk to Beelzebub about it. Surely between the lot of us, we can figure something out.”

Gabriel nodded, and Aziraphale and Crowley left with the tea things, allowing him to return to sleep.

***

These meetings were becoming more common, and the faces more regular.

Aziraphale and Crowley, entwined on a large chair on one side of the room; Hastur on the floor, between Ligur’s feet, in another chair; Gabriel and Beelzebub on the couch, Gabriel’s arm behind Beelebub’s head but not touching them.

Dagon and Michael standing off to one side, both looking serious.

Beelzebub had pulled Dagon in once they’d officially declared it a matter for Hell to deal with, how someone like Gabriel could prove his fealty to their Lord. Michael, meanwhile, maintained her presence was necessary to ensure balance.

And if the two of them occasionally had working dates at the cafe in town after they were done at the cottage, no one was going to mention it, for fear of their lives.

“Hell would be honored to have you,” Beelzebub was saying. “Imagine how powerful we would be, with the former archangel on our side.”

Michael shook her head. “That’s not what we want, though. Balance is a must. I can’t believe Heaven wouldn’t take you back, Gabriel. And anyway, I’m not sure Hell  _ could _ take you, with God’s love seeping of you like it is.”

Gabriel tried for a nonchalant shrug. His feeling of Her love on him had faded after the first few days, but all of the angels and demons around him continued to comment on it. Crowley had even made him shower after the first night, complaining it was reeking through the cottage and making him uncomfortable.

It hadn’t helped, and Crowley was learning to put up with it.

“Where does that leave us, then?” Ligur asked, his hand on Hastur’s shoulder.

“On our own ssside.” Crowley responded, his voice serious and his S’s lengthening, betraying his worry over the entire affair.

“Speak for yourself. Some of us still believe,” Michael argued.

“Believing issssn’t the issssue at hand. Loyalty isss.”

“We’re all enemies, here, Crowley,” Hastur said, sounding bored at the goings-on, as he often did. His fingers were clasped in the loose material of the leg of Ligur’s trousers.

“But we aren’t, don’t you see?” Aziraphale countered. “We’ve each betrayed our own sides for the love of another. Gabriel is the one who suffered for it, who was made an example of, by  _ someone _ , but we’re all guilty, and we’re all in this together, now. The main goal will still be helping Gabriel, but I think we need to consider that something bigger  _ will  _ come, and that all of us will be involved.”

“Seven of us against the armies of Heaven and Hell hardly seems like a fair fight,” Beelzebub muttered.

“Eight.” Gabriel said, considering the suggestion being laid out before him. He didn’t want to commit himself to Hell, and wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to form a new side, separate from Heaven. But if God wouldn’t have him, and he didn’t want to deal with Satan, then this seemed to be the only other option. Mortal or not, fighting for the balance the universe craved.

“Seven. And a fleshy human who’s too headstrong for his own good.”

“You love me.”

“If you die, I’m not saving you.”

Gabriel leaned over and kissed their cheek. “I guess I’ll just have to stay alive, then.”

“Easier said than done, at this point, I think,” Aziraphale said. “Dagon, anything you’ve come up with, in the files of Hell?”

“There are no records of anyone doing as Gabriel wishes. No mortals ascending to demon status, without becoming demons themselves in their death.”

“Without becoming demons themselves…” Crowley repeated, his voice distant.   


“Thoughts, dear?”

Crowley’s face crinkled in thought. “Angels are made by God. Demons are made when angels fall. But on rare occasions, a mortal dragged to Hell can ascend to become a demon. And at least a couple of angels have been made from mortal men.”

Sandalphon and Metatron. Of course. Both very powerful, and both originally human.

“What are you getting at, Crowley?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew together, a crease forming in his forehead as he tried to follow where Crowley was going.

“A third side. With something new. No angels or demons, but a new type of servant to a new Lord.”

Silence rang out through the room. Ruffling clothes broke it, everyone looking over to where Dagon had taken Michael’s hand. The two of them stared openly at each other, meeting eyes in a way they usually avoided around the others. After a moment, Michael nodded, and they turned away again, their hands staying clasped between them.

“Who?” Beelzebub spoke first, demanding and angry. “Who would be so great that we might choose to serve them, at our own risk?”

Gabriel looked around the room, his eyes settling on Aziraphale and Crowley. “Adam Young.”

Hastur sputtered. “The antichrist? Gabriel, who you have to be kidding me. That kid-”

“Is a neutral third party. A being more powerful than any of us, who has no interest in Good or Evil. His concern is the Earth, the universe. He has his friends to help him with that, but perhaps he’d like some more help.”

“He’ll say no.”

“Then we’ll have to convince him, won’t we?”

***

Adam Young was having a perfectly pleasant afternoon.

It was early spring and he’d just gotten out of school, riding his bike home alone as the rest of the Them were detained in a variety of extracurriculars. The past year and a half hadn’t been so bad, since he’d discovered his powers as the Antichrist, but even being able to bend reality to his will didn’t stop him having homework.

History wasn’t nearly as interesting when it wasn’t about pirates.

He left his bike outside in its usual place and dragged himself up to his room to get to work.

Or he would have, if he hadn’t opened the door to over half a dozen overpowered beings of various alignments.

His parents wouldn’t like this one bit. Adam wasn’t allowed to have guests over without permission, unless it was the Them. They’d have to be very quiet, or he’d get in trouble for something entirely out of his control. Letting Dog follow him into the room, he pushed the door closed as gently as he could, the soft click quiet enough that no one could have heard it over the sound of the telly. Barely even thinking about it, he dampened the sound that left the room, in case someone walked past and heard talking.

“No. We are not doing this. The apocalypse was averted, and I have to finish my homework before dinner so I can go meet up with the Them. I do  _ not _ have time for you lot.”

“A few minutes of your time, that’s all we ask,” Michael responded, stepping forward to speak for the group.

“Didn’t you all hate each other?” He looked around at them, his eyes on Gabriel. “You’re all wrong. What happened to you? Not two souls…”

“I was de-angeled, if you must know,” Gabriel responded. “I’m mortal now, courtesy of a coward up in Heaven who has yet to claim his work.”

“Hmmm,” Adam considered this. “You want me to fix him, then?” He asked, turning back to Michael.

“Not exactly. Well, yes. But we have a bigger proposition for you.”

“Explain.” Adam’s voice, though young, was commanding and powerful as his eyes flickered with something just a little inhuman.

“We’d like to serve you as our new Lord.” It was Crowley’s voice, soft and serious, that cut through the crowd in the small room.

Adam sighed, shaking his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Let us explain, please.” Aziraphale this time, sounding anxious.

“Like I said, I have homework. I’ll be finished with my dinner by 6pm. Meet me and the Them at the old hollow at 6:30. We’ll talk about it then.”

One of the demons Adam didn’t recognize looked like they were going to argue, but Michael’s hand came up and rested on their arm, quieting them before they spoke. After a pause, and a murmur of affirmation among the group, they disappeared together.

***

The old hollow looked much as it always had, except for the unusually large number of beings in it. Especially the number of _ adult _ -shaped beings. Upon arriving, via a couple of unusually powerful teleportation spells and a bit of hopeful imagination on Crowley’s part of bring Gabriel with him, they conjured a set of chairs, wooden and comfortable, and a small bonfire in the center of the clearing.

When the Them arrived, nearly three hours later, Pepper, who had spent a few weeks in the United States the previous summer, was quick to request s’more fixings and marshmallow sticks for everyone. They toasted marshmallows and nibbled on s’mores as they spoke.

Many of the angels and demons of the group still weren’t keen on food, but Aziraphale cheerfully joined in on the treat, and Hastur did as well, after watching for a bit and allowing Brian to show him how it was done.

When everyone had their fill and the sun was starting to set, the talk turned serious.

“You want me to be a god?”

“We want you to be whatever you want to be, and we want to serve you in whatever capacity you’ll have us.” Crowley was speaking for the group, the only one with substantial experience with kids.

“What if he just wants to be human?” Pepper asked. Introductions had been made all around, so everyone was on equal footing.

“He’s not, Pepper. He never has been and he never will be.”

Dagon spoke up. “Hell’s records suggest that once he reaches his early twenties, he’ll stop aging. You can’t die, Adam Young, and you will forever be a force on this Earth, whether you like it or not.”

Adam’s shoulders sagged. “But I don’t want to.”

“You want to protect humankind and the planet, don’t you?” Ligur asked.

“Yeah. From your lot.”

Wensleydale spoke next. “I thought the threat was over! We defeated the Horsepeople, what else is there to fight?”

“All of Heaven and Hell,” Pepper responded, her eyes locked on Crowley. He nodded in confirmation.

“How do we fight that?” Brain asked. “We’re just a bunch of kids and- well, you all. But there aren’t that many of you, compared to their armies.”

“We fight them by offering freely what we have taken by force,” Gabriel said absently. His eyes were glazed in distant thought.

“What d’you mean?” Adam asked.

“Knowledge. Love. Free will. We teach them that even the beings of Heaven and Hell don’t have to deal in moral absolutes.”

“You don’t need me for that.”

Beelzebub walked up to Adam and kneeled at his feet. “We need a leader, someone whom will guide us, keep us on the right path. Reality is a delicate balance, and we risk upsetting it. Too much is at stake to attempt what we wish to without careful strategy.”

“You’re so good at strategy games, Adam! You’d be great at this!” Brian exclaimed, his face lighting up. “And anyway, we should help, if we can. No point in doing it the first time if we’re not going to continue.” 

Adam was silent, grabbing a long stick and using it to poke at the fire. It was still large and bright, burning hot with only a bit of effort on Aziraphale’s part. As he prodded it, he let some of his power intermingle with the angel’s making the fire shift colors from orange and blue to red and purple, before pulling away and letting it return to its natural state. Tossing the stick to the side, he shook his head again.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of it, or the suggestion of it, or you all being so quick to jump onto it. But I think you’re right, we have to prepare, so we won’t be caught off guard. Like in Starcraft. Even if you don’t want to attack anyone else, you have to have an army to defend yourself if you get attacked, otherwise they’ll take you out early in the game, and take your resources to defeat everyone else.

“Here’s how this goes. I won’t be your Lord. I won’t lead you at all, if I don’t have to. But I will lend you my power, as you need it, and I will accept your allegiance as equals in the cause. You will leave us alone, as much as you can, and your task will be to liberate those on each side who might be sympathetic and introduce them to our side. It is that task to which you swear your loyalty, and through that loyalty I will grant you power. You become servants not of me, but of humanity, and you live to protect them all.”

He turned then to the Them. “You all are in this, too. Not like them, quite. But you need enough to keep you safe. You’re too involved, and you won’t be safe much longer, if we don’t give you the defenses you need.”

Pepper looked at Wensleydale and Brian, and then nodded once at Adam, an uncertain, jerky movement that betrayed how scared she was.

Adam looked around one last time, not waiting for any other comments before letting his power seep out of him. He floated up above the fire, his eyes gleaming as they had before, and let the barely-controlled energy flow through him.

It wrapped around the Them first, enveloping them all like a large blanket and settling on their skin. They only needed the slightest bit of energy, enough to hide them, to defend themselves if they absolutely had to. Wensleydale whimpered as it coiled around him like a snake, before relaxing and giving himself to it. When it was finished, they fell to the ground, breathing hard and wiping tears from their eyes from the exertion.

The angels and demons were next, their beings filling Adam’s consciousness. The demons’ energy was black and the angels’ white, though Crowley and Aziraphale both had shades of grey that settled in between the others. He enveloped them, letting the energy worm its way inside each being, and releasing the bonds he found there. When he pulled back, each one burned bright with a different color. Crowley’s was the same yellow as his eyes, Aziraphale’s a warm cream, Beelzebub’s deep red, and Michael’s a soft blue-gray. Hastur and Ligur shared a purple, and Dagon’s shimmered like fish scales in the sun. 

Gabriel was last. Adam reached within him and took hold of a ball of energy that already existed there, closed off and held captive. Surging his own energy into it, he pushed at the imprisoned power, forcing his way into it with effort he wasn’t entirely sure he had. It didn’t break. He couldn’t do it.

Just as he was about to pull away, feeling faint and ready to collapse, a rainbow of color surged around him, joining him and battering the cage. He could feel Gabriel slipping, and pulled away from the onslaught to cradle the former angel’s consciousness in his own, holding him close and telling him everything would be fine, so long as he just held on.

It was the red energy that finally broke the wall, Beelzebub a mass of raw anger and hate and love and joy. When they succeeded and everyone else pulled back, they let their energy swirl with the dim white of Gabriel’s core, growing it and letting it mix with their being.

When they pulled away, Gabriel’s light was still a bit dim, but it was a soft pink that trailed Beelzebub’s for a moment before pulling back.

He was whole again.

***

Adam slept for a week, after.

His parents weren’t worried. They hadn’t even checked on him, in fact, thanks to a few well-timed influences on the part of Hastur and Ligur. Each day the Them came over after school, working on their homework together and making sure Adam was okay.

When he finally awoke, he had  _ centuries _ of homework to catch up on.

It was a lot for a thirteen year old to deal with, being ill and missing school and then catching up, and even though his Mum didn’t know about the end of the world, he was fairly certain she would say that it wouldn’t matter if the world ended if he wasn’t even going to try to get into a good uni, and also  _ please remember to take Dog for a walk today, dear, before he tears up the carpet with his begging _ .

In the back of his mind, he could feel his powers extending farther than they had before, running through conduits that hadn’t existed just a couple weeks ago.

Everyday after school, the Them met in the hollow, playing and practicing with their new powers. Pepper was particularly strong now, with a new sense of accuracy she’d only seen in comic books, flinging things here or there in a way she could only have imagined before. She was already talking about getting herself a bow and becoming a real-life Robin Hood.

Brian found himself surrounded by the animals of the forest. Most of them were small, gentle creatures, and he would let them climb up to his shoulder and would feed them out of his hand. When he asked, soft and loving, for them to get him something, or to perform a task for him, they were quick to respond.

Wensleydale had always had a sharp mind, highly organized and eager for sums. That quality seemed to increase tenfold now, as he worked through math and science books he previously figured he wouldn’t understand until college. One day, as he was working on problem sets in his room, he reached out with his mind and found someone else at the end of the rope.

_ Hello _ , he said, curious.

_ Hello _ , came the voice of another boy, an ocean away and missing the simple joys of his childhood in Britain.

The new boy’s energy, Wensleydale noted, swirled of yellow and cream.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry it took so long to get this final chapter out into the world. I've been working hard on my mental health and haven't had the time/energy/focus to deal with such a long fic. This final chapter isn't edited, but I wanted to get it out here and be done with it. Maybe I'll tackle it again in the future, but I don't see it happening any time soon, and I really want to be done with it and have it finished. So here it is!

The cottage wasn’t large enough for eight cosmic beings.

It wouldn’t have been large enough for eight humans, either, or even a family of four, if the kids wanted separate bedrooms, so the idea of fitting all of them in was A Bit Much.

It didn’t stop Crowley from trying, though.

He’d watched a bit of Doctor Who, captivated by the TARDIS and its physics (or lack thereof), and with some effort, he imagined the cottage to be bigger on the inside. The result was magnificent.

There were eight bedrooms. Not because they were using them all (they were, in fact, only using four), but because they wanted to have enough for guests (aka the Them), and also in case they had any new recruits that needed to stay with them. Each room had its own unique decorations, which could be molded by the occupant’s desires, if the occupant was of the sort who could tap into the building’s flow of energy.

In addition to the bedrooms, there were two bathrooms, two kitchens and dining rooms, a home gym (for Gabriel), a living room that doubled as a meeting area, a large greenhouse, and a yard outside with space for gardens, as well as proper green space for a game of football or anything else they wished to do.

Crowley was _ fairly _ certain that there was more to the property than that, but he hadn’t had the chance to explore it all. Some doors went to nowhere, others went to different places. At least one opened directly into a bar located somewhere near Alpha Centauri, but only when he opened it. When Beelzebub opened it, they found themself staring into the Salton Sea. It was different for everyone, Crowley thought, though he hadn’t yet tested it out on the rest of the group.

The weeks after they had broken off from Heaven and Hell and officially taken their places as something Other, the four pairs had found themselves struggling to adjust to new normals and new powers.

Gabriel had it the worst of the lot, having grown used to his mortality and the confines of his flesh. He found himself occasionally bursting every light bulb in the house, killing flowers or, on one memorable occasion, filling the entire living room floor-to-ceiling with pizza. His powers were no more vast than any of the others, but with a new human conceptualization of imagination and a lack of practiced control, they were responding to his every whim and emotion.

Nightly prayers with Aziraphale became morning meditations with Michael, and his days were spent beside Beelzebub, who was well-equipped to handle even his more extreme outbreaks. The nightmares faded, now that his energy could help him process his memories, but on more than one occasion, Gabriel and the former demons of the group each had the displeasure of having Satan take over their dreams.

He was angry. God, too, though She let Metatron and Sandalphon pass on the message, rather than come Herself.

They passed them on through letters, distant and businesslike. The former angels were first anxious about receiving them, used to rude letters giving way to more harsh punishments over time. Eventually, someone pointed out that the two who had most often dealt out those punishments had gone rogue with them, and everyone relaxed a bit. Gabriel and Michael found themselves both making amends, to Aziraphale in particular, for their previous actions.

_ “I can’t believe I spent so much time making fun of your old war injuries! And punching you in the gut was just _ cruel _ . I’m so sorry, Aziraphale.” _

_ “Mortality has humbled you, my dear, but I assure you my forgiveness is given freely. You’ve changed, and we must be willing to accept people as they come, even if their pasts have caused us grief.” _

_ Gabriel cooked crepes stuffed with pears for dessert that night. Aziraphale’s favorite. The former angel gave him a soft smile when no one was watching. _

War was on the horizon, and for all the recovering and exploring they needed to do, they also had to work quickly. In between team dinners (Aziraphale’s doing), team building (Gabriel’s fault), and team movie nights (Hastur and Ligur’s doing, after they discovered the Harry Potter movies and just had to share them with everyone else), each of them had their assignment in the larger scheme of things.

Michael and Jerahmiel, who took his angelic name whenever he was speaking to angels, met with Heaven’s agents as they came to Earth to perform temptations, offering them books and knowledge, and inviting them around for get togethers at the cottage. Hastur and Beelzebub did the same with the demons, and were only marginally more threatening in their tone.

Gabriel prayed. Every chance he got, whispering to Sandalphon and hoping with all his faith that the angel was receiving the message. He no longer felt any warmth when he bent to the ground to pray, no longer a mortal and no longer a servant of the Lord.

Dagon and Aziraphale built themselves a library, expanding the cottage further and compiling both of their vast collections (Dagon’s stolen directly from Hell, courtesy of some old and still-loyal friends). They worked to diffuse information across an increasing network of rogue agents, sympathetic to their cause, who then passed it onto their friends and colleagues.

Crowley… Well, Crowley did _ something _. He was on his phone a lot, and later on a computer. He wasn’t aware that you needed wi-fi to access the internet, so anything in the cottage connected without issue. Whenever any asked him what he was doing, he hissed out something about locating agents, and continued scrolling and typing.

After a week or two, no one bothered to ask anymore.

In all, life was quiet. It didn’t feel like a war was coming, or the apocalypse, or anything else, really.

And then one day, a scream came from the back yard.

* * *

There was a horse in the yard.

Why was there a horse?

Crowley didn’t even _ like _ horses, so it wasn’t like he’d accidentally conjured a stable and populated it.

Surely no one else was going out and making random horses, or Beelzebub wouldn’t have screamed.

(Or rather, shouted. _ Former Princes of Hell do _ not _ scream, thank you very much. _ Crowley still thought it sounded like a scream.)

The horse was cream and white, the pattern mottled across it. Medium-height and stocky, it seemed strong and capable. Its mane and tail were well-groomed, too, the ends cropped evenly and the strands so wavy they nearly resembled curls. It had been prancing around the back yard, head high and eyes wild with fear, but when Crowley came out, it trotted up to him and nuzzled his shoulder, nickering softly. 

“Alright. What’s with the horse?” Crowley asked, amusement shimmering in his voice. He might not like horses, but he’d never not enjoy watching an uncomfortable Beelzebub, who had positioned themself behind him and was eyeing the creature warily. “It’s clearly not yours, with the look you’re giving it.”

“It _ was _ Aziraphale. But now he’s gone and turned himself into this thing.”

“Ah.”

Crowley considered the situation for a moment, and then shifted to his snake form. He’d started using it more frequently after Adam had freed them. The serpent no longer sat just below the surface, itching to force its way out. Instead, it coiled inside of him, waiting for him to call to it and release it. They’d learned to live in harmony for the first time in six thousand years.

It turned out it was _ fun _ to be a snake, when he had the choice, instead of constantly holding back from it. 

Approaching the horse with caution, as horses - even ones that were technically also angels - have a bad tendency of stomping snakes to death, Crowley waited to make sure Aziraphale wouldn’t crush him to death before slithering up one leg, over his shoulder, and up his neck. Settling between his ears, Crowley spoke softly.

_ “Relax, angel. Imagine your usssual form. Allow the horssse to fold insssside of you. It will be ssssafe there.” _

He kept hissing soft reassurances in Aziraphale’s ear as the body underneath him trembled and changed. When coarse mane gave way to soft blond curls, Crowley slithered down and shifted back to his human form as well.

“Care to explain?” He asked, wide yellow eyes staring deep into Aziraphale’s blue.

“I wish I could. One moment I was me, the next I was the horse. Still had my mind, for the most part. But besides that…”

“The beast took over and wouldn’t let go.”

“Yeah.”

Crowley turned to Beelzebub. “We need everyone out here, _ now _. Emphasis on the angels.”

Beelzebub did as they were told, following Crowley’s train of thought and agreeing with a nod before they left. When they returned, it was with five others in tow.

“Alright. New power for you northern lot. Find the beast, let it out. Let’s do this now so it’s not a surprise in the middle of London. Wouldn’t do to have any of you stuck in a zoo.”

He looked over his surprise new pupils. “Ligur, you first. Just like old times.”

Ligur shifted to his lizard form, large and commanding, and then back again. “Just like old times,” he echoed, a soft grin on his face. Hastur high fived him.

“Michael, you’re up next. Don’t fear it, you won’t get stuck.”

Michael took some time to shift, finally dropping to the ground and letting herself meditate. The shift was slower than Ligur’s, drawn out and uncomfortable to watch as fur burst from her skin and her structure molded into something new. Crowley looked away, unwilling to watch the scene that reminded him of werewolves in movies.

When it was done, Michael resembled a clouded leopard, small but regal. Her coat was dark grey with black blotches, and when Dagon reached down and ran a hand through her fur, she purred.

It took longer for her to shift back, as well, but when she did, Michael looked put together and calm. “Lovely. Absolutely lovely.”

That left one more person.

“Gabriel.” Crowley said. Gabriel took a deep breath and nodded, closing his eyes and clasping his hands in front of him.

He spent less time trying to morph than Michael had, but it took far longer for Gabriel to fully shift, his form expanding in unimaginable ways. When he finished, he was a bear. Blue-grey fur and a brown snout distinguished him from the average black or brown bear and his paws, tipped with sharp claws, pressed hard into the grass. Beelzebub gasped softly beside Crowley, and he heard them mutter a barely-audible, “Roosevelt.”

They stepped past him and up to the bear, who had something akin to a smile on his face. Threading their fingers through his soft fur, they gave a soft smile and pressed a kiss to his head. Gabriel turned his head and licked their face 

Crowley raised his eyebrows at the demonstration of affection. He’d never known Beelzebub to be affectionate when they were his boss, but apparently they really liked Gabriel. And bears.

Probably bears, actually. Crowley wasn’t a fan of bears the same way he wasn’t a fan of dogs, but he could see the attraction. Big claws, sharp fangs, and a body built for survival.

Beelzebub drew away from Gabriel after a time, stepping back so he would have room to morph back. When he was standing in front of them again, he grinned. “You know, when we have some time, we should check in on that old bear. As much as you doted on him, I bet he misses us.”

The straight face and raised eyebrow that met his comment might have fooled everyone else, but Gabriel knew better and made a mental note to schedule a trip.

They split ways after that, each pair going off to their own spot. Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves in the kitchen, Aziraphale sipping a cup of tea.

Aziraphale took a sip of his tea before trying to speak. “Crowley, that was-” he cut himself off, a grin on his face, as if there were no words to describe the experience.

Crowley knew what he meant.

“This wasn’t new. You know that, right? Angels… _ We’ve _ been able to do this the whole time, we were just always told it was only demons who turned into beasts.”

“Made from the same stock, I know. Demons can do it, so it makes sense angels can, too. It was just the knowledge of it that held you back. Something’s been released in each of us. Our powers are going to reach new limits.”

“Every recruit we have. They’ll have the same thing.”

“Yeeep.” Crowley drew the word out, stirring his own tea without drinking it.

They all knew what this meant. The balance was tipping, not towards Heaven or Hell, but towards _ them _.

* * *

Warlock Dowling had been in his seventh period class the first time the voice came into his head.

His name was Wensleydale, and he was from Tadfield, in England.

Warlock already knew where it was, because that was where he had been born. And he dearly missed living in England, with his Nanny and the Gardener, who treated him like he was the most important person in the world.

So when Wensley began talking to him everyday, helping him with his homework and telling him wild stories about his friends, Warlock thought perhaps his homesickness had reached a bizarre new level, one that should probably get examined. Except his parents didn’t care enough about him to get him help, and he didn’t particularly want to tell them anyway. He hadn’t told them he was a girl, sometimes, either, and was quite certain either admission would be met with nothing short of shouting, and possibly a beating.

Instead, he wrote a letter.

The address wasn’t available online. Nanny Ashtoreth didn’t have an email and didn’t appear to have a home address of any kind, so far as Warlock could tell. He timidly asked Wensley, the disembodied voice in his head who knew far too much about all sorts of things, if he could help him find Ashtoreth.

He imagined her face, dark with sunglasses and hair done up in a pretty bun, as it had been throughout his childhood. Her small smile curled in a way that most kids had found terrifying, on the occasion Warlock had ‘friends’ over.

The kids of your parents’ work associates didn’t count as friends, as far as Warlock was concerned.

Wensley’s excitement coursed through Warlock’s entire body.

_ Mr. Crowley was your _ nanny _ ? That must have been incredible! _

_ No, not a Mr. Crowley. A Ms. Ashtoreth. _

_ I’m looking at the image you sent me, and it’s definitely Mr. Crowley. Look! _

And Wensley sent him back an image that was nearly exactly Ashtoreth, if her hair was shorter and her glasses were newer, and she wasn’t wearing make-up. Maybe she was like him, and had decided that being a woman wasn’t who she was, and she was going to be a man instead. 

Warlock had questions, and he supposed the only way to get answers would be to email the address Wensley sent him. After all, at worst it was a mix-up of identity, which would be easy enough to fix. Pulling out his laptop and logging into his email, he began to write.

_ Dear Nanny _,

(Thirteen year olds are not exactly known for using perfect, traditional letter formatting in their emails, but Warlock knew that Nanny liked things neat and proper, in-between him crushing them under his feet.)

_ I got your email address from someone who says he’s a mutual friend. Hopefully that’s okay with you. Mum moved us to America last year, and I hate it here. There’s no one here like you and Brother Francis, and school is boring compared to your lessons. And now I have a voice in my head. His name is Wensleydale, and he’s British. I didn’t bother telling anyone, because no one cares. _

_ Anyway, Wensley seems very nice, and I was thinking of running away from home and meeting him. I’m not quite sure how I’ll get to Britain without a passport and all, but I’ll figure it out. Would you like to meet when I get there? I’ve missed you very much, and would love to see you again. _

_ I hope all is horrible with you, _

_ Warlock Dowling _

He cringed when he wrote his name, not just because _ Warlock _ is a weird name to begin with, and also because it seemed to him to be entirely too male for how he felt. The whole letter felt oddly formal to him, too, certainly not the way he usually wrote to friends, but Warlock wanted his every word to convey how badly he wanted to see Nanny. Clicking send, he wondered how much time he’d have before she replied, and how long it would take him to prepare to run away.

Not long, it turned out, because when he returned to his room after dinner, she was there.

Except Wensleydale was right. Nanny only looked a bit like Nanny, and looked very much like the Mr. Crowley he mentioned. 

“Nanny? How did you get here so fast?”

“Wensleydale called me after he offered you my email address. He said you might try to do something particularly stupid tonight. Call me Crowley, by the way.”

“Crowley.” Warlock let the name settle in his mouth, watching the man who looked different and had a different name, but was still same person he remembered, delicate walk replaced with swagger, bun replaced with a modern men’s cut, and dress replaced with the clothes of someone who _ was _ famous in the 70s.

“Come here, dear boy.” Na- _ Crowley _ said, hands out to offer a hug. Warlock accepted, sliding in against the familiar body and letting the arms that had held him nearly since birth envelope him. “You want to go home, huh?”

Warlock nodded. And then, after a moment, he looked up at Crowley. “Can I ask a silly question?”

“I’m sure it won’t be silly, but sure.”

“Is Wensleydale real? He’s been in my head for weeks now, and I was sure he was some kind of elaborate hallucination, but you said he called you.” Warlock didn’t really believe in telepathy, but Nanny had always told him that he had special powers. Maybe they were now going to manifest themselves as brilliantly as she had always said.

He was still a little disappointed he didn’t get a Hogwarts letter on his eleventh birthday, though.

“Oh, Wensley’s very real. Him and his friends will be excited to meet you when we make it back to Tadfield again.”

“Will you take me?”

“That’s the plan.”

Crowley checked his phone and sighed. “My absence has been noticed. I need to be getting back, before Aziraphale - that’s who you know as Francis - has my hide. Are you ready to go now, or should I come back for you?”

“Right now? I’d love to go right now!”

“Great. Hold on tight.” Warlock took his hand, tucking his head against Crowley’s shoulder as the world disappeared around them. 

His Nanny had always been more like Mary Poppins than any of the other kids’ nannies, but this went far beyond anything Mary would do. Kidnapping the child of an American Diplomat, though?

That seemed _ exactly _ like his old Nanny.

* * *

“Put him back, Crowley! You can’t kidnap children. _ Especially _high profile kids. Someone is going to notice!”

“Come off it, Aziraphale! No one’s going to notice. No one cares! Don’t you understand? He has _ no one _. Hasn’t had, since we went away. He deserves better, Angel. He’s our godson, don’t you remember?”

Warlock tried not to flinch at _ godson _, but he knew he didn’t cover it up completely.

He was tucked in an upstairs bedroom with Hastur, who he recognized, and Ligur, who he didn’t. The three of them were playing poker, which Warlock had learned from Nanny when he was six. He’d also learned how to _ cheat _ from Nanny when he was six, but the other two didn’t need to know that fact.

He had a comfortable mountain of chips in front of him, making sure to lose smaller hands to make it look like he was playing fair, while still netting a much larger payout for himself.

It was good to focus on the game, or anything that wasn’t the shouting below them.

When the world had reappeared around Crowley and Warlock, they’d been in a large, warm living room. A man who looked nothing like Brother Francis, but sounded very similar, immediately began arguing with Crowley about him disappearing without telling anyone, and then when he’d noticed Warlock, and he’d started in on how _ kidnapping is _ wrong _ , Crowley, _ at which point Hastur - who didn’t smell like poo anymore, and Warlock apologized to for making fun of - placed a hand on Warlock’s shoulder and guided him upstairs.

It didn’t make a difference. The entire mansion shook with the force of their voices, and at one point a pair of thuds and a crash led Ligur and Hastur both to wince.

“What was that?” Warlock asked, glancing at the door.

“Wings, most likely. The two of them don’t go at it very often, but when they do, it’s a bit of an event.”

“Wings?”

Neither man replied to him, and Warlock’s eyes scrunched as he tried to understand what was going on in this house, with all these curious occupants.

It was nearly an hour before the door to the bedroom opened and Crowley stepped through, wings still out. “Alright, kid. You’re with me. We’re taking a road trip.”

“What? Where?” Warlock tore his eyes away from the black wings that filled the doorway behind Crowley’s back to ask his question. His Nanny couldn’t have been an angel....

But that was just what it looked like. Warlock didn’t know if angels could have black wings, instead of the white he’d always seen in pictures, but that was his best bet.

Bit odd for an angel to talk about murdering all life, but Warlock had heard angels were soldiers, so maybe Nanny just hadn’t known any non-soldiery nursery rhymes.

“Tadfield. We’ll take a couple days, meet Wensley and the Them, and, I don’t know, see the nunnery you were born in or something. We have things to talk about, I guess. It doesn’t matter, just _ come on _.”

Crowley was clearly in a hurry, but before Warlock joined him at the door, he asked, “Is Brother Francis mad at us?”

His face fell behind his glasses. “What? No_ , _ Zira’s not mad at _ you _. Just me. He feels bad for you. I think he’s even packing you a picnic. Me, he just wants out of his hair until he can calm down. Might be a few months. See you gentlemen later,” he called to Hastur and Ligur on his way out, Warlock in tow now that he was certain he wasn’t in trouble.

They walked back downstairs, Crowley pulling a jacket from a hook near the front entrance and handing it to Warlock. “Here, this one should fit you.”

Warlock shrugged it on, the leather just worn enough to be comfortable on his shoulders. He didn’t ask where it came from; this was the sort of trick Nanny had pulled all the time when he was little, especially when Mum promised she’d take him clothes shopping after a growth spurt and then forgot.

Aziraphale appeared from the kitchen, a small picnic basket in his hand. “Warlock, dear, it’s lovely to see you again, and I hope we can catch up properly when you get back, but here’s some food for your trip. Don’t let Crowley drive too fast, alright? We don’t need to deal with discorporation as well as kidnapping.” Warlock didn’t miss that Aziraphale’s eyes had met Crowley’s for that last sentence, or that Crowley nodded in reply.

They left after that, heading out to an old car parked on the street. “I hope you like Queen, because that’s our only option,” Crowley said as Warlock got into the passenger seat. He turned on the car and _ It’s a Hard Life _ began to play on the radio. Crowley groaned. “No, come on, don’t do this to me. Anything else, _ please _.”

It switched, without Crowley touching it, to _ You're My Best Friend _, and Crowley groaned again, but didn’t argue this time. Instead, he started to drive.

The sun had set while Warlock was holed up in that second floor bedroom, and now they were flying through the dark at high speeds. “Didn’t Aziraphale say you shouldn’t speed?” he asked, timid about mentioning the other man, but also somewhat afraid for his life.

“Everything’s fine. This is slow for me. You’re safe, I’m safe, Aziraphale doesn’t have anything to worry about. It won’t stop him from worrying, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now.” 

Warlock didn’t know how long it would be before they reached Tadfield, but he drifted off to sleep to the soft sounds of _ Love of My Life _.

* * *

They were in a hollow.

Crowley hadn’t explained, beyond that this was the “usual” meeting place. There was a wood structure here, and some old toys, but the main feature was the large circle of chairs and the firepit in the center.

Warlock sat in one, with tartan cushions that reminded him of Aziraphale, and listened to what Crowley had to say.

It was A Lot. Angels and Demons and lots of other things Warlock was pretty sure had capital letters because they felt heavy and terrifying. Like the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Or, well, like the weight of the End of the World. Capitals.

“So you’re saying that sometime soon, you and Aziraphale and everyone else in that mansion are going to fight a battle with all of Heaven and Hell, and you’re hoping that you have enough other angels and demons on your side that you actually win?”

“Yeah, that’s the short version, at least. We’ve got a few thousand, now, between both sides. Not the same as twenty million, but each one of us is stronger.”

“...Can I help?”

Crowley took his glasses off, and for some reason it didn’t surprise Warlock that his eyes were snakelike and yellow. The look on his face was sad, one Warlock had seen before, but without the glasses, it was even more sorrowful than it was in his memory. Warlock fidgeted under the gaze, but he wouldn’t back down. If the world was ending, and Nanny and Francis were trying to stop it, he wanted to help.

Nevermind that his whole life up to this point, the person in front of him had tried to convince him to end the world himself.

“I’m not sure, my sweet boy. We’ll speak to Adam.”

Crowley lit a fire, then, a snap of his finger that ignited the pit in a large bonfire, and he introduced Warlock to s’mores.

“You’ve been in the States for how long, and you haven’t experienced s’mores?”

“I’ve been in a large estate in Washington D.C. since we left Africa a year and a half ago, and I’m barely allowed outside my room, much less anywhere with a firepit.”

They didn’t talk anymore, because the Them were approaching, their voices bouncing through the forest as they walked.

Wensley appeared into view first, coming around the bend of the hill above them and breaking out into a jog when he spotted Warlock. “You came! You really came! I was right, then, about Mr. Crowley?”

He looked between the former demon and the boy from his head, and at Crowley’s nod, sat down, silent, beside Warlock. The two stared at each other, bright looks in their eyes.

“Are they… okay?” Pepper asked Adam, glancing at them with concern.

“They’re fine, just talking telepathically,” he said. “Hey, you two! Verbal conversation only at the firepit, alright? Save the telepathy for when you’re apart.”

“Yeah, alright,” Wensley replied, pulling his eyes from Warlock’s. “Besides, we’re here for a reason, right? You’re going to try to do with Warlock what you did with us?”

Crowley nodded, speaking softly to Adam. “Look, I didn’t want him to be involved, but he is now. Anything you can do to keep him safe.”

Adam nodded and turned to Warlock. He concentrated, reaching in and trying to identify the essence of the boy in front of him. Inside, he found a confusing mix of white and black and yellow and cream, the influences, he supposed, of the two who raised him. Digging further, trying to reach into the core of the swirling energy, he reached onto something shrivelled. It had been large once. Huge, even. And it was a bit bigger now than it had recently been.

_ Love _.

It was the love not of parents to children, though that was one place this type of love was found, but of people who _ cared _. People who held you when you were sick or hurt; who took your hand and taught you now things, because they loved to see you grow; who believed in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. The sort of love everyone craved, but not nearly enough people received. Warlock had it in spades, once, and with Adam’s help, it would flourish into the source of his energy.

He’d have to repair it first, though, to bring it back to the place it had been. Pulling back for a moment, he began tugging the loose threads of energy into the ball, letting them marble on the surface as the white faded into the cream and the black into the yellow.

When Adam finally drew out, Warlock was still standing in front of him.

“How do you feel?” He asked, voice soft with fatigue.

“Different. Whole. _ Powerful _. What did you do?”

“Put things right again. You were all discombobulated, inside. I should warn you, though. Your energy is larger than the Them’s. I’m not sure what that’s going to mean for your powers.”

Crowley took Adam home after that, leaving Warlock to get to know the Them. They explored the forest, showing Warlock all their favorite spots and explaining their own powers. Pepper showed off her new bow and Brian called a small, pretty deer to them, holding a hand against its flank to keep it still while Warlock pet it, remembering the time Francis had done much the same.

After a time, Pepper and Brian when home, and Wensley walked Warlock back to the small bed and breakfast in town that Crowley and him were staying at. 

Warlock dreamt that night of angels and demons and his childhood and the world ending. He woke up more than once with a gasp, shivering and sometimes even whimpering at the images, but each time Crowley soothed him back to sleep with a hand on his shoulder and a kiss to his forehead.

* * *

For places like Heaven and Hell that considered a hundred years barely more than a blink of an eye, the second apocalypse came fast.

Warlock had been living in the cottage, which he learned wasn’t _ technically _ a mansion when they returned after nearly a month in Tadfield at Aziraphale’s call, for nearly a year. He’d shown no particular signs of special powers the way the Them had, but all the adults - adult-shaped supernatural beings of alternative alignment - around him all assured him that if it was going to come, it would come in its own time. Meanwhile, he attended school with the Them, which was a bit of effort every day, since someone had to teleport him there and back, or else Crowley had to drive him, but he was glad to have real friends for the first time in his life.

They had taken to playing Dungeons and Dragons together after school, each one playing a character not dissimilar to their own reality - Pepper an arcane archer, Wensley a monk (with limited telepathy because Adam said he could), and Brian a ranger.

Warlock, after some consideration and considerable urging from the Them, played a warlock. 

It was perhaps the first time in his life that he didn’t completely hate his name.

Meanwhile, the Eight were recruiting and training at record speed. Heaven was led by Uriel and Sandalphon these days. Sandalphon spoke to Gabriel on occasion, reaching out in his dreams and prayers and begging him to give up what he called a folly. Gabriel refused.

He kept praying anyway.

Uriel, less passive in her fight against this new threat to Heaven, didn’t hesitate to send armed angels after the teams when they were away. The skirmishes were dangerous, even deadly, for both sides. 

The same was true for Hell, led by a new Prince, risen from the ranks and more violent and short-tempered than Beelzebub had ever been. Demon packs, wandering the Earth and causing trouble in horrifying ways were increasingly common. The former demons were still sensitive to holy water, but with some modified toy guns (courtesy of the Them and Warlock) and armor, the four of them fought the onslaught with little effort.

When the world had tried to end the first time, it had been foretold. There was a plan, there were signs. Chaos broke out and the Four Horsepeople appeared and people died.

This time, when the world tried to end, it was nothing more than a quiet, overcast day.

The Them, which now included Warlock, were playing in the woods in Tadfield. Back at the cottage, Dagon, Michael, and Aziraphale were briefing new recruits on their preparations. Gabriel and Beelzebub were out recruiting together, maintaining radio silence while they worked, and Hastur and Ligur were doing the same in the Americas. Crowley was teaching still other recruits a thing or two about imagination, and barely containing his laughter as one particularly small and gruff angel managed to transform themself into a hippo.

And then he collapsed. All of the Eight did, across the world, the force of Wensleydale’s scream in their heads overwhelming them as Adam amplified it across the globe.

* * *

“Nat 20, and I rolled 6 damage. That makes it 12, total, which has to be enough to kill the wizard, right?” Pepper asked. They were nearing the end of a campaign they’d been playing for a couple months now, and she was eager to defeat the being in the cave who had been making life miserable for the people in the nearby town.

“Not quite. Sorry Pep. He’s hurting and angry, but he still has some life in him. You’re up, ‘Lock. What’s Lily gonna do?”

_ Lily _was the name of Warlock’s warlock, a scrawny young elf who tried to live a neutral life not by seeking the middle ground in everything, but by balancing out murder and mischief with charity and love. “Let’s finish him. I cast magic missile.”

“Alright, roll to see if you hit.”

Warlock did as told, looking at the number when the die stopped. Ouch. “6.”

“The missile goes soaring past his ear.”

“Did anyone else hear that?” Brian cut in, a hand to his ear as he tried to listen to the sounds of the forest.

“Everything alright, Brian?” Adam asked. Brian was more in tune with the woods and animals now, after considerable practice, and often picked up on things the rest of the Them missed. If he heard something, even if the rest of them couldn’t, it could mean trouble.

And that was exactly what it did mean, the ground opening up not far from them and releasing a figure far larger than any demon they’d ever seen. Beside it, a flash of light came down from the sky.

The original Them had seen this before. They knew what it mean. Adam stepped in front of them, addressing the group before he turned to the beings that had appeared. “Go. Run. Get a message out to our side. We’ll need backup, before long,” he said, and then turned around. “My name is Adam Young. Who are you lot?”

“I am Abaddon, Destroyer and New Prince of Hell,” the demon said, standing perhaps ten feet tall and garbed in a fine suit. He was commanding by sheer size more than demeanor.

Beside him, the angel spoke more softly. “I am Uriel, archangel, servant of the Lord, and New Leader of the Host.”

“You’re here to destroy the world, then?”

“We’re here to destroy you, Adam Young. And your followers.”

“Well, it’s going to take a minute for them to get here, so you might as well pull up a chair and wait.” Adam used his power to nudge each of them towards the circle of chairs. He wouldn’t be able to hold them for long, but he could give the others a chance to get the message out. “I should tell you the story I wrote recently. It was about space cowboys, against alien dinosaurs....”

As he spoke, the rest of the Them ran for their lives. Animals surrounded them, Brian catching one particularly majestic deer around the neck and swinging himself on. Pepper had her bow in her hand, having grabbed it and her quivers as they ran. One on her back had arrows anointed with holy water, and the one at her side had an equal number forged in hellfire.

Wensley was clinging to Warlock’s hand as they ran, allowing the other boy to be his eyes and he focused inward, screaming for help to anyone who would listen.

They made it nearly halfway out before the swarms began. Five kids (and an assorted collection of forest animals) against the forces of Heaven and Hell hardly seemed a fair fight, but they weren’t about to back down.

“Let’s do this, gentlemen,” Pepper said, readying her bow and taking aim at the nearest demon.

* * *

“Tadfield. _ Now _. Come on.” Crowley said. The first to regain consciousness, he was flying through the cottage, rousing the others and sending them Adam’s way. He texted the other four who weren’t with them, telling them the same message. Hastur and Ligur acknowledged and responded that they would activate the troops.

The war was on.

There were no Horsepeople this time. Earth was a battleground, but that was it. Not a prize, not the focus of the destruction, just a convenient place with enough open space to fight.

When they reached Tadfield, Dagon, Michael, Aziraphale, and Crowley together, the first scene they came to was the Them, fending off beings substantially larger and stronger than them with considerable effort. They stepped up to help, Aziraphale forging himself a new flaming sword, adorned with a gilded snake with yellow gem eyes along the crossguard as Crowley approached Warlock and gave him a hand from where he’d fallen from the force of a below.

As the other two took off into the brawl as Aziraphale and Crowley turned to the boy they thought of as a son. “Alright?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah. The three of us together?”

“Always, dear,” Aziraphale replied. “Did you ever?”

“I have an idea.”

Warlock imagined Lily, her beautiful robes and grand staff, and her incredible magical powers. She wasn’t as strong as an angel or a demon, but she could pack a punch. Her gentle eyes, blue as one father’s, and her red hair like her other father’s came to Warlock’s head as he felt change blanket him.

Except now he was the girl he’d always imagined in his mind’s eye, late at night when everyone else was in bed. She was the daughter of the people who raised her. And she was ready to fight beside her rightful parents.

“Oh, _ wow _.” She heard Crowley say as she opened her eyes. Looking down at herself, she saw the Lily she’d always seen in her mind’s eye.

“Check this out,” Lily said with a grin. She brought her hands up, aiming for a nearby demon, and released a magic missile. There was no dice roll this time, and she didn’t miss. The demon in question exploded with the impact, the energy of it’s discorporated being creating a shockwave over the battle.

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a look, both noting that they’d need to have a conversation with their kid later, and followed Lily into the brawl.

It was only minutes between when they arrived and when the other four appeared, a smattering of recruits and sympathetic angels and demons behind them. Thousands to fight millions.

Aziraphale plunged his sword into a nearby demon and watched Lily and Crowley team up to crush an angel not too far away. Gabriel watched the scene in front of him. Dead bodies, most of which had resulted in discorporated rather than dead soldiers, littered the woods around him. “Cavalry’s here! We need to to get to Adam. Them, go to safety. You’ve done good work, but we’ll take it from here. The rest of you, have at it!” He barked the orders, remembering the last war he was in and his role as a leader in the Host, too many lifetimes ago.

Leadership draped his shoulders like a well-loved cloak, and Gabriel let himself glow with it.

They took off without checking to make sure that anyone had followed their orders. If they didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. The end would come soon.

* * *

When they reached Adam, there were three beings sitting together. All appeared human, but none really were.

They were also not conscious.

“He’s pulled them into his plane,” Dagon said. “The same one he brought us to the first time.”

“We’ll have to join them. Stick together, follow the strings of energy, just like before,” Gabriel said. “Good luck, everyone, and look out for each other. We can do this.”

With that, they each took their own seats. Crowley and Aziraphale sat facing each other, fingers curled together and eyes locked in sightless stares. Dagon and Michael pressed palm to palm, and Hastur wrapped an arm around Ligur as he pressed his head into Hastur’s chest. Gabriel and Beelzebub looked at each other.

“Stay safe,” he said, voice strangled.

“Don’t die,” Beelzebub returned, and then stretched onto their tiptoes to press a kiss to his jaw.

They sat next to each other, thighs pressed together, as they extended their own energies out into the fray.

* * *

Adam was there, and he was _ angry _.

As he should be, Gabriel supposed, since he specifically said he didn’t want to be involved with another apocalypse.

Well, they couldn’t all get what they wanted.

Which was a platitude Gabriel himself was learning, because instead of the flow of energy he was expecting to be, like a raging fire or the rush of water or something like that, he was a bear.

The bear, actually. The same bear he could transform into on Earth. Except now he had only the limits of Adam’s imagination to explore.

Around him, he saw a swarm of flies, a horse and a snake, a frog and a lizard, and school of fish and a leopard. They were still in the forest, but it was _ different _, with rocks and cliffs and a large river to one side. Adam was a ball of energy, a wildfire, a waterfall, an earthquake, and a tornado, all rolled into one. Gabriel allowed himself just a moment of awe at the power in front of him before he focused his attention on the other two beings in this plane with them.

“Uriel.” The word left his mouth in barely a whisper.

“Gabriel. I wondered if perhaps God had made a mistake, casting you out as She did. I can see now that She was not wrong. To fall so far that not even Hell would take you is an impressive feat indeed.

“And the rest of you! Outcasts. Michael, you didn’t have to choose this fate. You could have kept your faith, could have been the one to lead the Host into battle in Gabriel’s absence. And instead you chose, what? To take to the ground like a _ demon _? How the mighty have fallen, I suppose.”

Uriel might have continued, given the chance, but Michael, who had climbed to a perch above her and listened calmly as she ranted, crouched close to the ground with her tail swishing. As Uriel turned to address Aziraphale, or the large bear that he currently was, Michael pounced.

The force of the blow knocked Uriel to the ground, and Michael snapped at her a couple times before something drew her off the angel.

A pounding force, shaking the entire forest. 

“_ Abaddon _,” Adam said, in a voice that was not his own, his energy a giant mass as the renegades he had so reluctantly taken in added their own lifeforce to his. Around the globe, battles were finishing up, hours after they’d begun, and those who survived made their way to Tadfield for the second coming of the apocalypse.

The Prince of Hell in question stood before them, surrounded by a swarm of locusts.

Time seemed to stop, and then like a video struggling to load right, the next several seconds seemed to happen much faster than they should. Locusts went everywhere, getting in faces and mouths and burrowing into clothes. Only Beelzebub, who was themself a fluid mass of flies, and Aziraphale, who had a long tail perfectly designed for insect swatting, were unbothered by the insects. At the same time, Abaddon grabbed a nearby tree with both hands, wrenching it from the ground and swinging it at his opponents. Michael and Gabriel both took the hit squarely to their flanks, and though Gabriel struggled his way back to standing, Michael stayed down. 

Crowley, close to the ground and able to slither his way out of the swarm, recovered first. “This is it! Imagination versus sheer force of will! He may be strong, but we have power on our side that he _ literally cannot imagine _.”

He was not wrong.

Aziraphale was the first to react, millennia of reading books honing an imagination that rivalled Crowley’s. He reached into himself and imagined himself larger than he normally was, with a flaming mane and tail. Lily had just been showing him _ Pokemon _ , and now the memory of Rapidash came to his mind. _ Fast and flaming _.

Locusts combust nicely when exposed to large amount of open flame, it turned out.

Gabriel remembered his time as a soldier, before Eden, and the courage and strength he had, then. Paired with the bear’s body and a soldier’s mind, he crafted himself into something better than both. There was no hesitation as he rushed to the front, standing upright and grasping the far end of the tree Abaddon used as a club. The demon didn’t let go, but he was now stuck in a melee.

Which allowed Hastur and Ligur to barrel into him, one on each side. Already off balance from Gabriel, Abbadon stumbled back into the river.

Many people believe that the rumour that sharks have swum up fresh water rivers is a lie.

They would be wrong.

In this instance, it wasn’t a lost shark. It was an entire frenzy of sharks, courtesy of Dagon, who usually preferred a nice school of arapaima or piranha. But today she imagined something larger and scarier, and what stoked fear in people’s hearts more than a dozen large bull sharks in close quarters?

The rending of shark teeth through flesh is a sensation unlike any other. Abaddon had no chance against them, his energy forced out of what was left of his material form in this plane and pulled with a hollow scream back to the pits of Hell. He was not defeated, but he was returned to where he belonged. The locusts who had not burned in Gabriel’s fire followed him, dissipating as soon as the demon’s body took its last breath.

Threat gone, everyone returned to their human forms, relaxing tense muscles and tired minds.

Gabriel approached Uriel, offering a hand to pull her up and then fixing a hard look at her.

“Leave this place. Pass word on to our _ brothers _ that your kind is not welcome here except in peace. Make sure Metatron informs God, as well. We wouldn’t want Her thinking we’d forgotten about Her.”

“Have you no faith, my brother?” Uriel asked, her mouth curving into a frown.

Shaking his head, Gabriel sighed. “The God I believe in is kind and loving, Uriel. She does not act out of malice, and she does not take joy in revenge. I will not deny another God, but I will not serve Her.”

“But you did! For centuries! Remember Eden? The ark? Sodom and Gomorrah? You served and you did so with love and joy for your Lord.”

“She turned away from me, Uriel. Because she disagreed with who I loved.”

“You love an enemy!” Uriel spat, glaring at Beelzebub, who was standing with the others behind Gabriel.

“Beelzebub turned away from Hell. We’re no longer on opposing sides. Don’t you understand? There’s so much more to what we are when all we have is blind faith and obedience.”

“Well, I still _ choose _ to follow my God.”

“And I wish you well in that endeavor. I am glad to hear you are comfortable in your calling, Uriel. If that were ever to change, I hope you would seek us out.”

Uriel held his gaze, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and then she disappeared.

_ Everybody’s gone _ , Wensley’s voice rang out in their heads _ . The demons, the angels, everybody _.

“We should head home,” Adam said, his voice still strangely deep.

* * *

Before Adam collapsed this time, he fixed the world.

There wasn’t much to do, just healing a few innocent people who got in the way of battles far afield and fixing some old monuments. The bodies of the discorporated were already gone, which they all tried not to think too hard about, and the liquefied remains and burnt ashes of the dead were cleaned up, probably in the same way.

The only evidence on Earth of the second apocalypse, this time a battle fought on all corners of the globe, were the memories of the ones who fought it. 

Five teenagers, eight celestial beings of various former allegiance, and a Bentley that was too smart for its own good.

A Bentley that, as Crowley discovered later, had siphoned some of his power to turn on and run over an escaping demon. _ Who needs a dog when you could have a car like this _, he’d asked, when he found out.

Dog bit him.

The work after that was quiet. In an effort to maintain cohesion among the troops, Aziraphale suggested pairing former angels and former demons as roommates and stationing them on different continents. That way, they’d have agents wherever they needed them with minimal travel. Airplanes ran on a schedule that certain doom didn’t typically like to wait for.

Adam was firm in his decision to not be an idol of any kind, refusing recognition or acknowledgement in any way for his part in the success. He wasn’t seeking to found a religion, to influence human history, or to build a following.

That didn’t mean the job was done, just that it could be on hold for a while.

Lily stayed Lily, though her hair returned to its normal ashen brown. After some introductions and a tearful conversation with Aziraphale and Crowley, she moved in with them. Crowley had to fudge the adoption paperwork and smother the investigation, but as far as he was concerned, she’d been his daughter all along. She continued to travel all the way to Tadfield for school, and enjoyed her friendship with the Them.

Besides the Them, everyone else stayed regularly in the cottage that was bigger-on-the-inside. Infrequent sleepovers, with a mixture of angels and demons and humans and animals and, on some rare and curious occasions, plants were times of mirth and joy as the children grew up.

They went to university, studying all variety of things after a big argument about what selection of majors might best support the cause.

The final decision was that each should choose what they loved, and they’d make the rest of it work.

Contrary to what the team betting pool believed would happen, it was Gabriel and Beelzebub who married first, nearly ten years after the first apocalypse that wasn’t. Aziraphale and Crowley had been the popular choice, and as soon as Crowley collected his winnings he spun around, knelt at Aziraphale’s feet, and proposed.

Aziraphale kicked him out for a month, and then eloped with him. It was nearly two years before they returned, and Lily rolled her eyes when she saw them before wrapping each of them in a big hug. She was a young adult now, they all were, and no one was quite sure what would become of the Four who were in closest proximity to the Antichrist. They still had their powers, stronger than ever and still improving every day. Lily, having completed her degree in English Literature, was now taking lessons in witchcraft from Anathema Pulsifer.

Hastur and Ligur were as they’d always been, nearly inseparable partners and friends. There was no marriage, there didn’t need to be. Their commitment transcended any human concept or contract of love.

Michael and Dagon worked together. They flowed and moved together as if they’d known each other since the beginning of time. Their love was a quiet one, simple and understated. Late at night, when everyone else had retired to their own rooms to sleep or read or just enjoy the quiet solitude, Michael would slip a record onto the old player from Aziraphale’s bookshop and lead Dagon in a waltz.

They say angels don’t dance, but Michael found she’d never really believed in listening to what other people said she should do.

* * *

  
Gabriel sat outside, tending his vegetable garden, Roosevelt dozing not far from him. Beelzebub had disappeared one day, shortly after the final battle, and had returned with the bear at their side. They were off with Dagon today, the two of them declaring a demon day out and heading into London for some mischievous fun. The Them were coming over tonight, and he wanted to cook them a nice dinner, since Brian had complained that the meals in the uni cafeteria tasted funny. He harvested tomatoes, aubergine, and courgettes for the recipe, before going to his herb garden and collecting some rosemary and thyme.

A voice came from behind him. “Uncle Gabe?”

“Hey Lily,” he said, glancing over at her and giving a small smile. “What’s up?”

She hesitated before stepping up next to him, her sundress blowing in the breeze and bumping against his legs.

“Need any help?”

“Grab that basket and follow me. Gonna help me cook tonight?”

“Anytime.”

Lily carried the indicated basket inside and followed Gabriel to the kitchen. She was quiet as she selected a knife and began washing and chopping the vegetables as directed.

“Everything alright, Lily? You seem quieter than normal.”

Her hands stilled, the knife partway through a particularly thick courgette. She didn’t look up, and after a moment of waiting for an answer, Gabriel stepped away from the pot he was stirring on the stove and put a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, kid?”

“Just thinking about fate a lot, I guess.”

“Oh?” Gabriel waited. Things had been hard enough for Lily over the years, and the nearly two years she’d spent away from Aziraphale and Crowley as a teenager had left her with many lingering thoughts about the nature of fate, faith, and family. “Care to share?”

“Was this destined, do you think? That Crowley and Aziraphale would screw up and raise me for eleven years? And then come back right when I needed them most?”

“I don’t know if I can answer that, hon. God’s plan may be ineffable, but it’s not infinite.”

“We’re nothing to Her.”

“You aren’t. And let that be a comfort to you. I can assure you, getting on God’s bad side is decidedly not a good time.”

“Did you really sneak into Heaven to speak to Her?” Gabriel nodded. “What was she like?”

“The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And a complex mess of caring and uncaring, anger and love, passion and dispassion. She was everything and nothing. It hurt to look at, and even more to go against.”

“How did you do it? Abandon your faith?”

“I didn’t. I still pray, every night.” He reached around her and gently pulled the knife from her hands. “I’ve got this, thank you for your help.”

Lily took a seat at the breakfast nook to continue the conversation while Gabriel finished the courgettes and continued with the aubergines. “You still believe? Even though…”

“You were raised to not believe, Lily. Aziraphale and Crowley wanted you to be perfectly neutral, and you are.”

“I don’t have faith, though.” It came out in almost a whine, a sorrowful sound that broke Gabriel’s heart. For as much good as those two did their kid, they’d screwed up in some horrible ways. Every parent makes mistakes in raising a child, but there was something particularly, if accidentally, cruel about raising a child as though they were antichrist when they weren’t.

“Sometimes we have to dig deep to find faith, and sometimes the faith we have isn’t in the things we might imagine worthy of faith. What do you hold dear to you?”

“You guys.” Her voice was small, a whisper of sound he could only hear above the sound of the knife because of his inhuman hearing.

He smiled again, a bright, warm grin that stretched his face. “Family and love are fantastic things to have faith in, don’t you think? A group of people you’ve chosen to surround yourself with, who care about you and will pick you up in your lowest moments and raise you higher in your highest.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re not convinced.”

“You’re going to live forever.”

“And I will carry my love for you with me through eternity, my lovely niece.” His words were dramatic, but the look on his face betrayed how silly he knew he was being. Thinking about mortality and death still scared him, even years after regaining his powers.

Popping the vegetables in the oven, he joined her at the nook. “Look,” he said, “I know your dads have a _ thing _ about churches, but come with me on Sunday. Just this once. You can pray to your Uncle Sandalphon - or, er, pray to God, which Sandalphon will receive and maybe communicate with Her, if he feels like it - and maybe it’ll give you some piece of mind.”

“Heaven really is a mess, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Always has been. Just got worse when Michael and I left.” 

“What about Aziraphale and Ligur?”

“We kept Aziraphale on Earth for a reason, and Ligur never stopped being attached at the hip to Hastur, so we kept him at arm’s reach, too.”

They sat in silence for a bit, until the timer went off to tell Gabriel that the vegetables were ready. Lily set the table as he organized dishes of pasta, sauce, vegetables, and breadsticks (miracled, because he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to get dough to rise right) on the counter for easy serving. “Call the others?”

“Yeah, of course.” Lily responded, and she gripped the chair next to her as her eyes fluttered closed. _ Wensley, tell everyone that dinner’s ready. Pasta and breadsticks _.

_ Yes! Be right in _. He responded.

They were, as far as Gabriel was aware, Not Dating. Despite that, they maintained their telepathic bond, and had used it on more than one occasion to cheat at uni. No one was going to report them, because that would mean a lot of explanations about a variety of goings on and secret powers that no one outside of the family really needed to be aware of. And anyway, both had a fair point: unless one of them died, they’d always be just a thought away, caring for each other, propping each other up, and celebrating each other’s victories.

The Them came in, in their twenties now and still moving as a group with the same cohesion they had as children. They grabbed plates and food from the counter, and then gathered around the table. Aziraphale trailed behind them and took the seat between Lily and Gabriel, spearing a piece of pasta and nearly slipping it into his mouth before Gabriel spoke.

“Grace, brother?” He asked, an amused look on his face. Aziraphale had never been much one for the ritual of human religion.

“Ah, yes, of course. My apologies. Who will lead it?”

“I will.” Lily said, glancing at Gabriel as he nodded at her. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but bowed his head and clasped hands with Gabriel and Lily nonetheless.

“Lord, bless this meal…” She began, speaking a prayer of the love of family and the simple pleasure of a bountiful harvest. Lily had much yet to understand about the world, but she knew this place, these people, would always be her home and her shelter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos/comments appreciated :)


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